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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031271">By Any Other Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever'>XiuChen4Ever</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fae &amp; Fairies, Fae Magic, Fae Tale, Flower Hybrids, Flowers, Language of Flowers, M/M, Plant/Human Hybrids, more like</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:34:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongdae’s only a gardener.  So why would the king seek his death?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(platonic), Byun Baekhyun &amp; Kim Jongdae | Chen, Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>EXOventure Round 1 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>By Any Other Name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for EXOventure Round 1, prompt M173.</p><p>Dear prompter,<br/>This probably isn't quite what you had in mind when you requested "EXO as flower hybrids," and to be honest, this wasn't exactly how I originally envisioned your lovely prompt.  But the fae will be as they will be, it seems, and I'm very pleased with how it turned out under their whims.  I do hope you enjoy it, too!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The fae are fickle.  Everyone knows this.  They’re beautiful, powerful, and usually indifferent to humans and their relatively short, noisy lives.  But they’re absolutely untrustworthy, which is why even though Jongdae performs the traditional offerings and charms religiously just as his father painstakingly taught him, he expects absolutely nothing in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather, he expects to have problems if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> comply with the old ways, but sees the ancient rituals as appeasements rather than invoking any sort of blessings.  If he does things the way they’ve always been done, the fae will have no reason to cause him any strife.  And Jongdae would much prefer to avoid strife of any sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae is a simple man with simple desires, chief among which are a cozy home, a sweet companion, and something fulfilling to do with his days.  He’s easy enough to please, which is just as well, because as the royal gardener’s son, he’s expected to follow in his father’s footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Jongdae loves the royal gardens.  He has since earliest childhood, toddling after his father and “aiding” him with his work.  The showy blooms and tidy hedges were all so fascinating, chaos and order forever entwined.  They still fascinate him even after two decades, so he's content to pay the price to keep them blooming, subject only to natural trials instead of fae trickery.  The King of Exordium is vehement about his hatred for all things fae, even going so far as to withdraw royal participation and support of the seasonal rites as of the year Jongdae was born.  But behind the garden walls, Jongdae’s father insists that they honor the regents of nature as well as those of humankind, and Jongdae has always considered it wise to cooperate with the whims of those older and more powerful than himself, be they his father, Exordium’s king, or certainly the fae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Therefore, the royal gardeners use tools of bronze instead of iron.  Jongdae himself drops the first spring crocus in the basin of the eastern fountain, lays summer's first rose over the southernmost sundial at high noon, places autumn's first chrysanthemum in the palms of the wooden goddess guarding the western garden gate, and sets the first hellebore of winter in the stone mouth of the north wind in the mosaic gracing the garden wall.  He says the old prayers on solstices and equinoxes with his father as they pace through the hedge maze, leaving offerings of fruit in the center to match the season: spiced in the fall, dried in the winter, with cream in the spring, and plucked fresh from bush or tree in summer's generous heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems to be performing the rituals successfully, because the offerings are always absent the next morning, no trace left behind as may be expected if wildlife happened upon the honored gifts.  The garden flourishes, the king sends commendations, and Jongdae and his father enjoy generous bonuses of fine earthenware, durable clothing, thick gloves, well-woven wide-brimmed hats, and a tithe of the garden's produce to eat, preserve, or sell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a good life, if a simple one, and Jongdae is happy.  He gets to set his own hours, direct his own tasks, measure his own success, and reap his own rewards.  He's grateful for how much freedom he enjoys compared to other servants that raise the royal animals, prepare the royal meals, or tidy the royal palace.  They have many specific rules to follow and much strife if their tasks go awry, but Jongdae's family have been gardening for the kings of Exordium for many generations, and their family's loyalty has earned them a measure of respect.  The only restriction Jongdae lives under is his father’s vehement command to never let the king see his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's how we show our deference in light of all our privilege," his father says.  "We may hold our heads high in the presence of all others, but to the king, we bow deep, keep our faces constantly lowered.  If he starts to think us immodest, he'll stop looking upon us with so much grace."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae has no rebellious streak, no desire to break the single rule he's been given.  So he always keeps his face from royal eyes, respectfully shielded by the curtain of his long black hair or the broad brim of his gardener’s hat.  Humility is a small price to pay for liberty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidently, this attitude is echoed by other young men, regardless of rank or station.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>It's a warm spring day that seals Jongdae’s fate, the kind that coaxes dreams to soar among puffy clouds, lures scholars into gazing through windows instead of staring at texts, compels frolic among children and animals, and pulls poetry from the hearts of lovers.  A blooming day, full of promise and possibility, and when Jongdae plucks a voracious caterpillar from the stalk of a turnsol, the gentle breeze that rustles the blossoms seems to whisper, "Thank you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at his own fancy, setting the caterpillar loose among the wild milkweed outside the garden walls.  The butterfly it will eventually become is welcome to flutter back over and sip nectar from his blooms, but in its infancy, it must sup elsewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae's mind has also turned toward food, and he decides to reward the day's efforts with a meal he doesn't have to prepare.  He heads into town, humming scales as he walks, mimicking the joyful birds trading love songs in the trees.  He follows the river road, preferring to trace the curve of the water that elbows into the direct route between the palace and the trade district, rather than taking the bridge road and wasting coin on the pair of crossing fees.  He and his father are privileged, but still far from wealthy, and coin must be saved for necessity rather than convenience or diversion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To that end, Jongdae’s father is sure to be off playing draughts in the meadow with the shepherds, taking advantage of the lengthening daylight for some free leisure after labor.  But Jongdae would rather sing for his supper, entertaining patrons who've dragged tables and chairs out into the tavern yard, enjoying a pint in the balmy air rather than behind stuffy earthen walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The yard is overflowing with jolly faces, many of whom cheer when they recognize Jongdae making his way across the tavern yard.  With a playful flourish, he steps up onto to the wooden platform that’s tucked against the converging stone walls in such a way as to bounce sound more effectively into drink-dampered ears.  Having warmed his voice up on the walk into town, Jongdae clears his throat and sings.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Today, I feel blue,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Feeling like I’m trapped, that kind of mood.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But you’re the master key who’ll unlock me.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Your joyful colors change my days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Every day, I sprout up at the thought of you.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Small emotions start to bud,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Suddenly, deep inside of me, you started to grow.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Simply looking at you is not enough.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>The moment my hands touch you,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You bloom inside my heart!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles and bows when the crowd cheers, lifting tankards high and sloshing pale streams of wheat beer over hands and faces.  Jongdae takes several song requests, then claims to be unable to sing further unless his throat is wetted properly.  He takes a seat at a boisterous table he's gestured enthusiastically toward, and moments later, he's presented with a frothy tankard and a plate of fragrant bread, fruit, and cheese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae smiles his gratitude broadly.  "Thank you, kind friends.  It is a pleasure to be invited into such merry company."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is a pleasure to have our ears filled with such happy song," one of the men responds.  He's tall but slim, a bowyer's wiry build, with dark hair cut short and darker eyes that curve when he smiles.  "I'm Hakyeon, and these are Jaehwan, Wonshik, Hongbin, and Sanghyuk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae easily gives his own name, then cocks his head at the one man still wearing a broad-brimmed hat despite the low angle of the sun.  He hadn’t been introduced by Hakyeon, though he seems comfortable enough amidst the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's old No One," Sanghyuk says.  "Or so we’ve named him, for he won't give us anything else to call him.  He joins our fun every now and then—we've decided he's a seminary student, escaped for the occasional night of anonymous sin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae snorts.  "Why choose the seminary if one has so little reverence?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, we have a whole yarn spun about that," Hongbin laughs.  "It's a tear-jerking tale of a youngest son and a devout father’s dying wish, filial loyalty overcoming faithlessness."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But ale overcomes all, isn't that right, No One?" Wonshik chimes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If the ale is fine enough," No One says, lips wry with disapproval.  "This… isn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group roars with laughter again, slapping their nameless friend on the back and calling for another round despite the mediocre ale.  It still tastes like liquid sunshine on Jongdae’s unrefined tongue, by far the best in the trade district, but perhaps No One is used to trappist ales or other richer spirits.  Another mystery for the mysterious stranger, but ultimately his own secret to guard if he so chooses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae alternates singing a dozen songs and enjoying a pint with the giddy group, trading smalltalk about their work and the weather, rumors of a war between the neighboring nations to the south, tales of a dragon setting fire to the hills in the east.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Twere no dragon," Jaehwan asserts.  "Only a forest fire caused by lightning.  Early in the year, to be sure, but a long winter pickles the brain.  An unusual happenstance can seem fantastic."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet those who only think of horses when they hear hoofbeats will never find a unicorn," No One scoffs.  Then he leans forward, giving Jongdae the impression he’s being closely scrutinized, even though the stranger’s eyes remain obscured by his hat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who is your mother, Jongdae?" he suddenly asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s smile comes through thin lips.  "I don't actually know her proper name—she passed on when I was newly born, and my father is reluctant to speak of her.  He only says she was the prettiest rose he's ever seen, plucked too soon, and that I resemble her strongly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure, then, that the man who raised you is the one who sired you?" the stranger presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae shrugs.  It had bothered him in his youth, how little he took after his father in looks.  He'd always had a vague sense that he didn't belong, not to his father, not among the other children.  But he's always belonged in the garden, and he's settled into his skin since then, grateful to have a single parent who loves and cares for him when so many children have none.  His father, by blood or not, has raised him well, says his mother would be proud of the man he's become, and Jongdae has decided that's enough for him.  It doesn't matter what tree a cutting is from, only that it blooms on the branch it's grafted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you care so much?" Hakyeon asks No One.  "Need his family origin before you can propose to him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Priests never wed," Hongbin dismisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mayhaps he's asking for his sister."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Better hope it's his brother," Jongdae laughs. "Men are more to my taste."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles broadly at Wonshik, who smiles back but shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought you might be casting eyes at me," he chuckles.  "Too bad for you I'm a married man.  You'll have to hold out for No One’s sweet brother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Worth a shot," Jongdae says, his own smile undimmed. It's spring, he's young, and there are plenty of other flowers in the fields.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would never guess which bloom's perfume would ultimately lure him in, or how far afield it would lead him.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Spring’s early warmth breaks into a gray dawn the next day, suddenly-thin air promising to soon be filled with rain.  As Jaehwan had noted, it’s a bit early yet for the boiling rain and jagged flashes of a summer storm, but a spring squall can certainly wreak havoc over young, tender plants.  Jongdae hurries to shelter the most vulnerable beneath canvas-covered wooden cages, smiling at the wisps of gratitude he imagines to be conveyed by the blossoms already bobbing chaotically in the growing wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tallest turnsol has two new buds in its cheery pale pink cluster, the fragrance always bringing the memory of berry-filled baked goods to the back of Jongdae’s throat.  Most of these sun-following plants bloom in lovely shades of purple, so the more delicate hue stands out among the rest even without being a handspan taller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be all right,” he tells the plant as he covers it along with its fellows.  “The storm will pass and your hidden sun will return, so fear not, my devoted little friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the first time he’s talked to the plants, but it is certainly the first time he fancies that one answers with warm laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And later that morning, it’s the first time any of his plants have sheltered him in turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind has died back and the rain seems paused, so Jongdae takes the shields off the plants to allow them to absorb what sun they can between the clouds.  The weather still feels on the verge, and perhaps it’s that sensation that dances across the back of his neck as he hears his father greet the king on the other side of the hedge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Majesty,” he says, voice muffled by posture and foliage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is the boy?” the king answers, voice brisk and cloudy to match the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The boy?”  His father’s voice holds a note of wariness that makes Jongdae pause, hunched over the turnsols with the shield half-lifted from the last of the lavender clusters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the boy.  The one you raised right under our noses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-my son?” his father questions, and then he does something Jongdae has not once in all his score-and-six years known the man to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s father </span>
  <em>
    <span>lies.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not know, Your Majesty,” his father says.  “I should hope he’s tending the oleander, hiding it away from the coming storm.  But he’s a youth, and youth often skive off, so it is with deepest apologies that I cannot say for certain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s brow folds like a paper fan.  He stares at the hedge, shocked by the number of ways his father’s words are </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Not ten minutes past, Jongdae had told his father he’d be opening up the sun-soakers, those flower beds not shielded overmuch by shrubs and hedges due to the plants blooming best when given as much light as possible.  The oleander does love sun, but it also basks in the reflected heat of stone, planted along the southern side of the garden’s largest folly, which is not at all near to the hedge behind which Jongdae is currently crouched.  Oleander is so warmth-loving that it doesn’t even bloom until summer’s hottest days, a season away.  In spring, the shrubs bear only hardy leaves, needing no shelter from storms except that which the folly wall already provides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no way Jongdae’s father doesn’t know where he is and what he’s doing—Jongdae has never once shirked his duties.  So why would he mislead the king in such a simple inquiry, after having brought his son up to show their benevolent regent every respect?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely Jongdae’s father is aware that Jongdae can likely hear him.  Why would he shame him by saying his son was meant to be performing a useless task, but may not be performing any task at all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show me,” the king demands on the other side of the hedge, but Jongdae hardly hears his father's obeisance or their footfalls as they move off.  His father’s falsehood circles in his head like a bee trapped beneath a bell jar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why the oleander?  A lovely little shrub with bright magenta blooms that Jongdae had always found ironically inviting, given their meaning.  In the language of flowers, they signify </span>
  <em>
    <span>distrust, caution, beware,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so despite their beauty they are not often included in lover’s bouquets.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should hope he’s tending the oleander, hiding it away from the coming storm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Is this a warning?  Did his father intend these words for Jongdae’s ears more than those of the king?  The king certainly sounded far more agitated than usual—Jongdae has always known him as jovial and indulgent.  Why is he unhappy, and why had he asked for Jongdae in the first place?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beware,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the gusts through the blooms seem to hiss.</span>
  <em>
    <span>  Hide away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The tightness at the nape of Jongdae’s neck no longer has anything to do with the turbulent weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae straightens up and whirls around, still holding the canvas shield.  This part of the garden is laid out in wide, open beds to allow all-day access to the sun.  There’s nowhere nearby to hide, unless he fancies diving face-first into a hedge too narrow to contain his entire figure, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whirls back the other way—and freezes to blink the focus back into his eyes.  No, no, his vision is clear—there is indeed a tiny </span>
  <em>
    <span>face</span>
  </em>
  <span> framed by the blossoms of the tallest turnsol, as delicate and pink as the petals surrounding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be all right,” the face says, voice deepening as the turnsol grows, flows, and ultimately transforms into a lithe, leaf-covered figure.  “The storm will pass once the hidden son returns, so fear not—your devoted friend has found you at last, though I am not exactly little in my favorite form.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?” is all that falls from Jongdae’s slack lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re forgiven, of course,” the turnsol-man says, “for it was hardly your fault in the first place.  And because I’m a turnsol, and that’s what we do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles broadly, and Jongdae’s lips twitch to mirror the expression slightly.  Turnsols indeed symbolize forgiveness, along with devotion, faithfulness, eagerness, and intoxication with joy.  This beautiful man seems to embody all of that, but Jongdae hasn’t forgotten that turnsols harbor a toxin strong enough to kill a full-grown ox.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have my thanks,” Jongdae says haltingly, taking care to be incredibly polite.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As one who regularly sings all the old ballads to enthusiastic crowds, Jongdae knows all too well what happens to those who are rude to the fae in those passed-down tales.  For surely that’s what this floral being is—some variety of fae, as dangerous as he is beautiful, issuing forgiveness for some slight Jongdae isn’t even aware of having committed. He can hardly be of the mortal realm, with that dewy skin, impish expression, and pale pink blossoms growing over his head in place of hair, the blooms unfurling from a curl over his forehead to trace down his back like his spine is the stalk of a turnsol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the murmur of voices—one impatient, one appeasing—drifts over the rising wind to Jongdae’s ears, tugging the turnsol’s head to follow the sound instead of the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many apologies, good sir,” Jongdae says, eyes darting and mind racing in search of a place to hide.  “But I must—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way, my well-loved liege,” the turnsol-man says.  “Your devoted friend shan’t allow the Stormbreaker to come to harm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still slowed by shock, Jongdae allows the fae to grab his wrist and lead him through the garden towards the east, passing fragrant blooms rendered scentless by the thievery of the wind.  Yet Jongdae twists to look over his shoulder, both hoping for and fearing a glimpse of the man who’d raised him, who’d always had a calm, steady answer for Jongdae, and who surely wouldn’t approve of his only son going anywhere with a feckless fae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father—” he begins, but the fae only tugs him along all the more rapidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father will kill you if he catches you, my liege,” he says, voice as clipped as an over-pruned topiary.  “Your mother’s magic hid you well, proving the prophecy for many years and keeping you from even our questing tendrils.  But though the prophecy may now be broken, the storm shall be broken, too—I will not let Faerie’s skies grow dimmer, or my name is not Baekhyun Keenglimmer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae frowns, stumbles, and catches himself thanks to the fae’s surprisingly sturdy form.  “But fae never give mortals their true names, so your name surely </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> Baekhyun Keenglimmer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fae gives him an offended look over one green, leafy shoulder.  “Of course it is.  Am I not as capable as a hundred men, sharp and shining?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae suppresses a huff, still determined to be polite though this fae was manifest as a sentient man-flower rather than an old woman or a blind beggar.  “It’s not possible for me to know your virtue, having only met you this hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only met this hour!” Baekhyun scoffs, tugging him along what seems a nonsensical, meandering path through the garden, ducking behind shrubs and hastening across open spaces.  “We’ve conversed on the daily all season, my chatty liege.  It is true that one’s true name is a treasure not lightly to be relinquished, yet the sovereign geas cares not whose names are known.  A veil has no value when I’ve belonged to you since before your birth.  You’ll find me your turnsol through and through—there are none more faithful than I to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not the sun,” Jongdae protests.  At the moment, he feels like a confused cloud at best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are the son,” Baekhyun counters, stopping before a low bed cradling lilies-of-the-valley.  “A rose shall grow among bellflowers, a cultured hybrid grief made feral.  A golden bloom in a bell jar, a prince that no one shall imperil, a gift of and for the dying.  When skies grow dark and chill wind roars, the son will rise up from the lost to break the storm and bridge the courts.  Summer-born, yet embraced by frost, broken pact reunifying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a song?” Jongdae asks as Baekhyun bends to cup a curved stalk of small white flowers, other hand still locked around Jongdae’s wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the Outcross Floricle,” Baekhyun answers without taking his gaze from the plant encircled by his elegant fingers.  He tilts his head up, pulling in air sharp with impending chaos, then lowers his face to the lily-of-the-valley, kissing the tiny bells with his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jongdae finds himself blinking furiously once again as the florets enlarge along with their stalk, continuously unfurling like a suspended staircase, dissolving upwards into the misty air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re taking me to Faerie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking you home,” Baekhyun corrects, marching up the swaying blossoms like they’re no more treacherous than a rolling hillside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his arm locked in the fae’s grip, Jongdae has little choice but to follow.  Gritting his teeth, he steps up on the first floret, wary of the rounded surface and the rising wind.  But the unconventional staircase remains stable, allowing Jongdae to keep up with his escort after only the briefest of stumbles.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve climbed about a dozen blossoms when there’s a shout from below.  Twisting to look beneath, Jongdae’s eyes burn at the sight of his father held fast by a hulking guard, sword glinting at his throat.  Beside him are the king and another man, young enough to be almost a boy, both glaring up at Jongdae, the disapproving twist of their mouths both identical and strangely familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call him back or die,” the king demands as the youth rushes toward their enchanted stair.  The blossoms refuse to stand still for this would-be climber, so the youth draws a dagger to hack at the stalk instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My honeysuckle,” Jongdae’s father calls.  “We must always submit to the pennyroyals.  Please, my sweet pea son!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take Jongdae nearly as long this time to hear his father’s hidden message.  Honeysuckle—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Pennyroyal—</span>
  <em>
    <span>you should go.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Sweet pea—</span>
  <em>
    <span>farewell.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” he calls, tugging frantically to free his wrist.  How can he leave his father behind? Why is the king so moved to violence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Baekhyun says, voice soft but firm.  “Our wayward rose has lingered in the mortal realm long enough.  The storm must be broken, my liege.  You must leave your chrysalis behind and fly away home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Home?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Surely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is his home.  He knows no other, has always only had his father and this garden, their world within a world.  How can he leave?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stricken, Jongdae’s gaze darts over the chaos below.  His father’s face, upturned and calm despite the rage around him.  The roof of the cottage he’d grown up in, barely visible through the mist.  The guard’s sword, pricking a trickle of blood to run down his father’s throat.  The marble plinth in the center of the hedge maze that would likely go bare of fruit this solstice, for the first time in seven generations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father—” Wait, hadn’t Baekhyun implied that his father is the one that seeks his death?  Does he mean the king?  One of his men?  No matter—Jongdae has one father, bloodline or not, regardless of how Baekhyun chooses to see things.  But still—  “That man down there—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jungchi—</span>
  </em>
  <span>has been a devoted servant to the fae,” Jongdae protests.  “How can you leave him to die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is only human.  He has served his purpose, tending our wayward rose, and should be honored for the privilege.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father certainly looks honored, but Jongdae is only human, too, and he won’t leave him behind.  “Take him with us,” he begs.  “Save him, too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun sighs, eyes rolling in a way that would terrify Jongdae that he was testing his unexpected savior’s patience, except his throat is already full of fear for his father, no room to spare for concern for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A human cannot enter Faerie and remain safe for long,” Baekhyun says.  “He must remain in the mortal realm.  But if you insist he must also remain alive—”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun gestures carelessly with elegant fingers.  Tendrils reach from the flowerbeds toward the guard, and in the confusion, Jongdae’s father disappears, replaced by a small brown rabbit that quickly darts into the foliage, to the king’s vocal dismay.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Father!" Jongdae calls, wishing he could shoot out his own tendrils and snatch up the fleeing rabbit, unsure if he's relieved or horrified that his father has been reduced to a common beast.  Is it better than death to be instead rendered dull and mute?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stop gaping and climb," Baekhyun commands, tugging on his wrist again.  "My magic is limited in this realm, and tarrying here any longer is unwise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words are punctuated by the rumble of thunder, as dark and ominous as the skies have become.  Those skies open up, and Jongdae’s frustrated tears blend with the rain as he turns away and climbs.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Perhaps it’s that his vision is blurred by acrimony or perhaps it’s sheer fae trickery, but Jongdae doesn’t notice when exactly he stopped climbing blossoms in the wind and started climbing a grassy slope.  Howling rain is replaced by gentle mist and soft birdsong, though thunder still rolls ominously in the distance.  Baekhyun is still holding his arm, but now his grip is supportive rather than imperative as they crest the verdant hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cruel Keenglimmer, what did you do to that poor boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span> boy.  Is he yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in our court.  Surely that makes him </span>
  <em>
    <span>ours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae looks up as Baekhyun splutters in protest, trying to both bow and keep hold of Jongdae, which proves a difficult maneuver even for a fae so graceful as Baekhyun has shown himself to be.  Staring at them, heads cocked in eerie synchronicity, are the most beautiful women Jongdae has ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only makes sense, of course, as these women are clearly fae.  One is wearing an electrum crown, twined all around with the clematis vines that also seem to be serving as her hair, cascading down her back in a cape of royal purple blooms.  The other is arrayed in brighter purple crocuses, in the leaves covering her head and even as a skirt of enlarged petals flaring out from her hips.  She’s wearing an electrum circlet, too, but it’s smaller, though equally ornate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“King Taengoo Honeythroat, Queen Fany Jewelbright, always lovely to encounter Your Majesties,” Baekhyun is saying.  “Please pardon our intrusion, but we hadn’t time to wait for a summer road.  If you’ll kindly grant us passage through your court, our travel is a matter of some urgency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crocus woman—presumably the queen, based on her smaller headpiece—blinks wide, enchanting eyes at Jongdae.  “Why such rush?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why such tears?” the clematis woman asks, eyes equally mesmerizing, certainly as regal as a king if not quite the usual gender.  Both regents tilt their heads in the opposite direction, then blink at him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pruning is sometimes painful.”  Wearing an appeasing smile, Baekhyun moves to shield Jongdae slightly, broad rugose leaves unfurling from hips, ribs, and shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Queen Jewelbright pouts at the action.  "Seems as though someone should prune </span>
  <em>
    <span>you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But King Honeythroat nods solemnly, purple hyacinth framing her exquisite face, amethyst eyes catching the scant rays of the morning sun.  “Human lives are short and sorrowful,” she says.  “Come, take tea with us and let us relieve your heart of such burdens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, perhaps, we might relieve something else,” the queen adds, pout exchanged for an artifice of innocence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With all due respect, Your Majesties, please forgive a mere bard for spiriting away the object of your obvious interest, but the Summer Court is waiting to welcome the Stormbreaker.  So if you’ll graciously excuse us—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betony bursts into bloom over the king’s scalp.  “This </span>
  <em>
    <span>human </span>
  </em>
  <span>boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s way too drab to be the Stormbreaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Not so!” Baekhyun barks, sounding decidedly less elegant than he had before.  “He’s not a mere human, he’s our cultivated hybrid.  He may not be a showy bloom, but he’s kept a level head through peril, bears compassion in his heart, keeps moving forward despite distress—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’ve yet to let go of my arm,” Jongdae feels compelled to point out, wiggling the still-captive limb in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and will be the greatest king both realms have ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The greatest </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Jongdae is unable to see the expression on his own face, but the king and queen both burst into titters at his reaction, lavender harlequin flowers blossoming all down the king’s leaf-covered form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Wild Rose’s offshoot, he’s clearly unfit to be a regent if he’s unaware he’s meant to be one.  He’ll be entirely incapable of tending the Summer Court or any other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Summer Court will never accept him—how are they to believe he’s one of us, even in part?  He has no petals.  If he’s meant to be a rose, why hasn’t he flowered?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun unfurls another leaf to block the queen’s attempt to poke at Jongdae’s ordinary human hair.  “He hasn’t flowered because he’s been stuck in the magic-poor mortal realm, of course,” Baekhyun huffs.  “I’m sure he’ll bud up beautifully with proper sustenance.  But the Summer Court will accept him regardless, because he’ll pass their trials.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trials?  For what?  Surely this is all a bit much,” Jongdae protests, still in utmost politeness.  “Their Majesties are astute and correct—the idea of myself as a king is laughable.  Of course I appreciate being rescued from whatever wrathful fate would have befallen me in the mortal realm, but all I know is gardening.  I am afraid I will be far from able to repay you by living up to whatever flowery oracle you’ve decided I’m meant to fulfill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun curls a leaf so he can regard Jongdae over his shoulder.  This close, Jongdae can see his eerie lobed pupils, tiny black florets centered in irises as pink as the blooms on his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tending a court is not unlike tending a garden,” he assures Jongdae.  “You must balance the needs of differing blooms, cultivating a space where they can all grow in harmony.  You’ll perform perfectly well, I have no doubt.”  He rolls those uncanny eyes as Jongdae opens his mouth to protest.  “Have you so little faith in the faithful?  Am I not your devoted friend, here to aid you?  How can you fail to triumph, with your turnsol at your side?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not even sure that I care to triumph,”  Jongdae says.  “Can I not simply return to my home once the king’s ire is spent, to care for a mundane garden suited to my skills, and tenderly look after the rabbit that once raised me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The rabbitry will wear off once your caretaker no longer feels endangered,” Baekhyun dismisses.  “And it is not wrath that blooms in the mortal king’s heart, but fear.  For he once made a pact with our kind only to break it in misdirected revenge, and for that we have been waiting to repay him.  The fae do not forget, and we always claim our due.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the poor rosebud’s baffled eyes,” Queen Jewelbright coos.  “Come now, Keenglimmer, tarry a while and lay out the tale for him properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite so,” King Honeythroat agrees, soft purple puffs of armeria bedecking her shoulders.  “Your haste to present your find to the Summer Court does your supposed hybrid a disservice.  The ladies in waiting will make us jasmine tea and we will give our bright bard a proper audience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king lifts her chin, leaves and petals of all kinds unfurling all around her in every shade of imperial green and regal purple, enhancing her modest stature until she towers over them.  “That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a suggestion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun’s shielding leaves all droop in exasperation.  “As Your Majesty commands,” he says.  “But my liege requires more nourishment than the tea and sunshine that keeps Your Majesties so well.  Perhaps it would please the Honeythroat to feed honeycakes to Summer’s long-lost son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would,” the king agrees, now arrayed in pale purple geraniums.  She inserts a lithe tendril into the earth by her petal-encased feet.  “For if he really is the Stormbreaker, surely he will remember and repay the hospitality of the Spring Court when he comes into his power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae remains unsure he will ever come into any sort of power, especially when Baekhyun reluctantly relinquishes his grip on Jongdae’s wrist in favor of the queen’s delicate-looking hand looped through the crook of Jongdae’s arm.  Sure that any fae’s strength far exceeds any softness of appearance, he doesn’t attempt to resist as he’s led to a carpet of white clover beneath a weeping willow.  The long branches have been plaited into an elegant backrest, complete with cushions of fluffy allium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tea and honeycakes are already waiting on an ornate electrum platter as Jongdae allows himself to be seated between the pair of regents.  The sight alone triggers the pinch of hunger, but Jongdae politely declines when they’re offered to him.  He’s no fool—any human that consumes fae food or drink is doomed never again to be sated or slaked by mortal fare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Queen Jewelbright pouts.  “You needn’t turn your nose up—we would never serve a fellow regent anything but the best the Spring Court has to offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Begging your pardons, Your Majesties,” Jongdae says, scrambling to find an inoffensive reason for his refusal.  “I do not question the quality, merely the suitability for an unrefined human palate such as mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you are the lost rose as Keenglimmer claims, then your palate has been yearning for fare such as this," King Honeythroat says, face framed by echinacea.  "Your mother, may her memory bloom always in our hearts, delighted in the sweetness of such golden morsels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew my mother?” Jongdae asks, hunger and manners forgotten in his astonishment.  “You really believe her to have been fae?”  He turns to Baekhyun.  “Is that why the king was after me?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Everyone knew the Wild Rose," Queen Jewelbright says gently, all teasing absent from gaze and tone.  "She was as bold as she was beautiful, and your face does indeed bear her stamp, for those who know to look."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But isn't that impossible?" Jongdae's gaze darts from face to face, failing to find proper reassurance in any of them.  "Fae and mortals cannot interbreed."  Surely that's why all the old cautionary ballads about forbidden love between mortal and fae ended with an empty cradle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come now, spin the tale out for us properly, Keenglimmer," King Honeythroat huffs. "And assure your liege it's safe to sup during the telling—his stomach sings as loud as you do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No harm will befall you from consuming this fare, in this realm or the mortal one," Baekhyun says solemnly.  "You are fae as much as mortal, my liege, and a naturally toxic species can always detect even the faintest of poisons.  Trust your devoted friend and fill yourself—the Spring Court does you great honor by having you to table, even if there is no table in evidence."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passes oddly in Faerie, so Jongdae can't say for sure how long he's known Baekhyun at this point. He has no prior vows to base such life-trust on—sure, he seems to have saved Jongdae’s life once already, but it also seems to be his whim that Jongdae stay in Faerie forever.  It would not seem harmful to Baekhyun for Jongdae to be consigned to consuming fae food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet the queen is holding a cake up to Jongdae's lips in a manner that has slipped beyond encouraging.  With an inner sigh and a silent apology to his father, Jongdae opens his mouth and allows the now-smiling queen to pop the little cake inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now your rumbling won't disturb the tale," she says with a nod, and Baekhyun takes this as his cue to begin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the bard speaks, he flutters his fingers in time with the rise and fall of his voice.  As if summoned from the mist at the edges of the clearing, ethereal forms flit above his hands, there and yet not, like peering at figures through a fog.  The images are soft and indistinct, but still Jongdae can tell that they represent a king, a queen, and another feminine figure, slightly shorter, with a cloud of golden roses on her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae watches, fascinated, as the figures shift and shimmer, enacting his mesmerizing words.  He doesn’t notice two sets of fingers carding gently through his wind-tousled hair, so enraptured is he by Baekhyun’s tale.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>"Once upon a time in the beautiful domain of the Summer Court, there lived a princess most beloved, not only to her people but to the entire realm.  Her true name was known only to herself and those who'd gifted it to her, of course, but in her youth she was called Brightstorm for the way she blustered around at whim, bringing sunshine and smiles wherever she went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Princess Brightstorm was a fearless flower, changing as royals do from blossom to blossom depending on her mood.  Her color was a vivid fuchsia as bold as her personality with leaves of mantis green, and the form she favored most was that of a rose, petals newly unfurled.  She was the heir to the Summer Throne, and she held the heart of the Court—and the rest of Faerie as well—in the palm of her shapely hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alas, the winds do not always blow fair even for those beloved of the sun, and darkness came to the skies of Faerie.  The mortal realm, not content with what the world had already gifted them, had found ways of working a new metal, a cold thing that took vast amounts of fuel to smelt, that scarred the earth and those who wielded it.  The age of iron had begun, and the more one realm used it, the more the other suffered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The fae endured as we always have, for though our realms are linked, they have always moved independently through space and time, connecting at occasional points to maintain the flow of balance from one world to the other.  Yet the increasing prevalence of this cold iron was upsetting the balance in Faerie, causing violent storms more and more frequently, leaving blossoms battered and unable to bloom.  Sure that the mortal realm was unaware of the consequences of their iron dependence, fae began to slip into the mortal realm in increasing numbers to ask, beg, or threaten humans not to rely so much on this tainting metal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But mortals have short memories and long ambitions, and their use of iron only increased despite the fae's attempts at mitigation.  In desperation, Zie Who Slumbers Between Worlds was finally awoken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Zie Who Slumbers was most displeased at being disturbed.  Zie had created the realms and set them in motion, using the energy of tenscore millennia. Zie therefore required an equivalent amount of uninterrupted rest before Zie could create another set of realms, and as Zie'd been woken, Zie could only begin Zir rest again for a fresh tenscore millennia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But the denizens of Faerie pleaded with Zim for temperance and mercy, for they believed Zir first creation to be so imperiled that any subsequent twinned realms would be replacement rather than accompaniment.  Zie Who Slumbers saw the concern of Zir children to be legitimate, and Zie deigned to observe their plight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After evaluating the diminishing balance between the realms, Zie offered Zir supplicants a choice: Zie would unlink the realms for good, limiting the corruption of cold iron to the mortal realm, letting it manifest in the creation of swords and cages instead of shields and plowshares.  This would free the skies of Faerie to clear gradually as iron's influence faded, sacrificing one realm to save the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But the fae did not wish for the mortal realm to perish, only that Faerie be allowed to survive as well.  So instead of leaving the mortals to slowly destroy themselves,  they asked Zie Who Slumbers if there was a way to preserve both realms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Zie observed their sincerity and found it foolish.  Does the rabbit pardon a fox for preying upon it, or does it prioritize its own survival, unconcerned whether its aggressor's hunger is sated?  The mortals had already proved their own self-serving ways, yet the fae were persisting that a way be found for both realms to coexist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To prove that the fae would do better to spend their love on each other rather than a people that had no lasting concern for them, Zie offered only a sacrificial alternative:  the realms would remain linked, and Faerie and its denizens would always suffer from the use of iron in either realm.  But the suffering could be mitigated and the memory of mortals extended if the fae would give up their greatest treasure, condemning their best beloved to suffer and ultimately die to bear the first savior of both realms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even as Zie spoke, the fae knew what the price would be.  Or rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> it would be—and sure enough, their Brightstorm immediately stepped forward, offering herself up without hesitation.  Her father and brother begged that she reconsider, that perhaps they should leave the mortals to their self-wrought fate.  But Brightstorm wasn’t so called for her meek nature, and even as they asked, they knew their beloved princess would not acquiesce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And so Zie stretched Zirself low to touch the heart of all of Faerie, granting Brightstorm a single chance to change the course of both worlds.  With the blessing of Zie Who Slumbers Between Worlds, creator of all, Brightstorm would create a life herself, one to bridge realms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brightstorm was to give herself to a mortal king, bearing his heir at the cost of her own life, for of course a fae lingering overlong in the mortal realm will inevitably weaken to that transient state.  Returning to Faerie periodically could have reinvigorated her, but Zie Who Slumbers made it very clear that any travel between realms would terminate the pregnancy Zie had enabled.  Without Zir touch, the length of human gestation was already longer than would be survivable for a fae trapped in the mortal realm, not to mention the process of finding a mortal king, unwed, without heirs, willing to be swayed by a charismatic bride into limiting the use of iron in his kingdom as a substitute for the entire world.  So long as that one kingdom followed the old ways, Faerie would remain inviolate.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Judgment thus delivered, Zie Who Slumbers returned to Zir deepest dreaming, beginning Zir rest anew. Princess Brightstorm made ready to fulfill her part, but the night before she was to depart for the mortal realm, Brightstorm's mother, the Queen of the Summer Court, had a vision. It came to her in rhyme, as the best prophecies tend to do, and brought with it images of Faerie under strain, skies darkly shimmering with dancing lightning giving way before a crystal dawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"A rose shall grow among bellflowers,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>A cultured hybrid grief made feral.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>A golden bloom in a bell jar, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>A prince that no one shall imperil, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>A gift of and for the dying.  </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>When skies grow dark and chill wind roars,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>The son will rise up from the lost</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To break the storm and bridge the courts.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Summer-born, yet embraced by frost,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Broken pact reunifying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"The princess took heart from this floracle, relieved that it implied her child would be safe and able to break the corruption cycle.  Thus bolstered, she left her home and her family, taking only her dearest companion as a lady-in-waiting, one willing to endure long periods of mortal fading between brief returns to the realm their princess would never again see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the mortal realm had some mercy left, it seemed, because our Brightstorm, our self-exiled savior of a realm that had largely forgotten her kind even existed at all, was soon able to find a newly-crowned king, handsome and brave, with a heart for his people and an eye for Brightstorm’s beauty.  He commissioned poetry and song, painting after painting, only more fascinated with her after learning her fae origins.  He was unopposed to an accelerated courtship, for his kingdom needed an heir, and for his sparkling fae bride the king was also willing to make an official return to the old ways.  With his Wild Rose at his side, his people went along with her simple request to replace iron with bronze as much as possible and keep the season-honoring traditions they already enjoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As the Wild Rose grew round with the king’s child, she lost her former luster, causing much distress to her devoted husband.  He blamed her family condition for her failing health, enlisting the palace physician to slip his queen a potion to induce her to  lose the pregnancy.  But the lady in waiting detected the poison, averting disaster.  The queen explained to her royal husband that the child she carried would be her legacy, that she would fade but their child would live for a score of lifetimes, governing well and fairly.  And the king wept for his bride but rejoiced that his lineage would be a great one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"About a month before the heir was due to be born, the lady in waiting returned to Faerie, recharging her magic so she may be best able to aid the queen in her delivery, perhaps buy the heir days or even months with its mother before she inevitably passed.  The lady would then do her utmost to raise the child in the ways of fae on the Wild Rose’s behalf.  But a small neighboring nation chose that time to test rumors of an army outfitted in leather and bronze.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, the queen had oft suggested that her royal husband invite her family to spar with his masters-at-arms, sharing their techniques to the benefit of both.  But the king brushed such idle chatter aside, for he believed his wife and her people to be fragile and childlike, far from built for war.  So when the opportunistic enemy invaded, the king’s troops were entirely unused to fighting in ways that emphasized mobility and flexibility instead of standing strength.  The king's border forces were slaughtered, and the king's finest general, his own dear brother, was slain.  In rage and grief, the king is said to have cursed the fae for their influence, ordering his armies to outfit themselves with iron and storming to the queen’s chambers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None ever saw the queen again, nor any sign of the babe.  When the lady in waiting returned, she was shot through with arrows tipped with cold iron, barely able to flee back to Faerie in pain and grief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When she reported this betrayal to the Summer Court, a cadre was sent to determine the queen’s fate and that of the child that was to save two realms.  The king was evidently expecting some retaliation, for he had all the nearby roads from Faerie sealed or guarded, and the cadre was only able to return to the palace after travelling for many days from another land.  Even with their stealth and dedication, they were unable to find any sign of their beloved Wild Rose, nor the child she meant to bear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did hear rumors that the king had not only renounced all ties to the fae, he had forbidden any public honoring of the old ways or even any mention of the fae in his presence.  The cadre continued to search from time to time, learning over the years that with his return to iron barbarism, the king managed to completely destroy the small neighboring nation who had started the skirmish, annexing it with his kingdom.  He married a well-respected noblewoman from the nation he'd just conquered, who bore him several healthy heirs.  And though the fae were excluded from the palace by workings of iron and ever-alert guards, they still managed to hear whispers of the unending bitterness in the king’s heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was said that every year on the anniversary of his brother's death, the king would drag out another one of his once lovingly-commissioned paintings of his former bride, burning it in effigy as his new family looked on, swearing vengeance for what had been stolen from him.  He demonstrated no remorse or care that every year since his first wife's disappearance, the skies of Faerie shredded further, that another new-crowned king mourned his sibling, that the mortal realm remained sustainable only because of his first wife's sacrifice.  When asked about his hatred of the fae, this mortal king was heard to say that an offer of life was repaid with death, and so too do the fae see it, though the angle of the view is not in alignment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A pact was made, though life was lost.  A pact was broke, though at what cost?"</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Florets drooping with melancholy, Baekhyun delivers the last lines of his sad tale with a flourish, letting the achingly beautiful images die away along with his voice.  The King and Queen of the Spring Court take their lithe fingers out of Jongdae’s hair to cheer and clap in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae sits up straighter, slight weight on his scalp suggesting the Spring Regents had woven something—almost certainly flowers—into his hair.  Cautiously, he lifts his own fingers to explore their handiwork, being stopped by a sudden tut and Queen Jewelbright’s soft hands on his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll muss it,” she chides.  “And as you’re meant to be the Wayward Rose, you ought to look the part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s brows twitch like twig-prodded caterpillars.  “So, you’re saying you believe my blood sire may well be the King of Exordium himself, a king that may have killed my mother for the crime of being fae, after adhering to the old ways cost him the life of his brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of Baekhyun’s mouth curve downward to match his florets.  “That is a far less elegant way of putting it.  You have no sense for the dramatic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae mirrors Baekhyun’s frown.  “But I do have a sense of the improbable, and while I’m aware that at the moment I’m sitting in Faerie, where actual fae royalty just wove me a flower crown, it’s still a broad stretch to expect me to believe that your legendary queen’s child survived.  Even if she had somehow managed to deliver her infant into the care of the royal gardener before her death, surely the garden would be the first place the cadre would look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The cadre did search the gardens, among many other green and growing places,” Baekhyun asserts, tendrils quivering.  “Never was there any sign of fae or fae magic, nor did the gardener have any child in his custody until several years later.  That child appeared wholly mortal to fae eyes, as did the king’s heirs by his new wife.  The oracles we cast all were inconclusive, until two seasons past, when summer was just turning the world over into autumn’s copper hands.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Summer Court, as they always have, were assembled in remembrance of their Wild Rose, who had faded into mortality as surely as summer must fade into autumn.  They feasted in the name of their Brightstorm as a dark storm tore leaves from vine and tree, and that night, there was a disturbance.  The old Summer Queen had passed into Elysium’s embrace with her beloved King a score of years ago, unwilling to remain in a world doomed to death without their beloved daughter.  But her granddaughter, the offshoot of her son, the new King of Summer, woke screaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Baekhyun’s florets unfurl, shaking accumulated dew from petals and leaves.  “Your cousin, Crown Princess Amberglow, said the oracle was yet unbroken.  That the Wild Rose’s offshoot was alive, but would soon be in great danger.  That his time in the mortal realm would end before a year would pass, one way or another.  The search was renewed, and several potential candidates were identified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles wryly.  “I was watching over all of them, in the limited ways the king’s ironmongery allowed.  I failed your mother by not being there when she needed me most.  I was determined to find you to make up for losing you in the first place.  We had to be sure, because claiming the wrong candidate would be damning for us all.  The Summer Court has a long memory, and a bitter one at that.  Since the Wild Rose was betrayed, no mortal has entered Faerie and returned unharmed to their own realm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That seems unfair,” Jongdae says.  “They likely had nothing to do with any betraying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fae or mortal, grief steals away reason,” Baekhyun shrugs.  “My failure to protect the Wild Rose and her child has bought me the hatred of the entire Summer Court, though I thought I was keeping her safest by returning to Faerie so as to be fully invigorated when the time came for the birth.  We are not meant to create life that way, and I feared that in my diminished state, my magic would not be enough to keep her alive through the process.  She dearly wished to at least meet her child before she passed beyond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae blinks.  “Wait—</span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were the lady in waiting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… aren’t you, um.  A man?”  Jongdae cringes when this question draws laughter from all three fae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silly boy,” King Honeythroat says.  “Are we not as the flowers of the fields?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… certainly look flowery,” Jongdae hedges.  Fae in the old ballads seem to appear as whatever they like—dogs, cats, humans, trees, even inanimate objects in some tales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And are flowers not both male and female all at once?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually,” Jongdae agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, then, are we,” the King states, “assuming physical organs at need or whim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… see,” Jongdae says, though this entire conversation only brings to mind many more questions about fae gender and reproduction, none of which are at all appropriate to be asking of royalty.  Or anyone, for that matter, save perhaps for very close friends, and while Baekhyun certainly seems devoted, Jongdae wouldn’t dare to assume they were anywhere near so intimate as of yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So our Keenglimmer wore a lady’s face, since you mortals have ridiculous ideas about leaving a woman alone with a man she’s not married to,” Queen Jewelbright sniffs.  “Even if she were to frolic with him, why should it matter?  Do they think a lady’s flower is doomed to wilt after the first time it’s caressed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae has no answer to this that is both honest and likely to seem reasonable to the regents.  Unwilling to irk a fae or lie to one, he looks desperately at Baekhyun for aid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t expect an answer from our Stormbreaker,” Baekhyun laughs.  “He seems entirely uninterested in ladies’ flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae feels poppies bloom on his cheeks.  “Just how constantly have you been watching me?” he mumbles, immediately sure he doesn’t actually wish to know the answer.  So he presses on with, “And what made you decide that I was your missing prince?  It still seems so unlikely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun shrugs.  “When the king and his son came to find you, I decided to risk it—you would likely die anyway if I left you, or be taken away to some iron prison beyond the reach of the most intrepid fae, and I could not allow that.  So I claimed you in the name of your late mother, my closest friend, and as soon as I touched you, I knew you were hers.  That you were all of ours.  I lost you once, and swore a vow. Lose you again, I never shall.”  His petal-pink irises seem to shimmer with iridescence as he gazes solemnly at Jongdae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.  I suppose I am much obliged to you for that,” Jongdae says, for he feels he must say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in response.  “If I am indeed your lost prince, I will do everything I can to live up to such a birthright—if my mother died that I might somehow save two realms, I will not dishonor her by refusing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I will not dishonor her by allowing you to take up such duties alone and unaided.  It will be my utmost privilege to be at your side throughout, so much as I am able.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun extends a forearm, and Jongdae clasps it firmly, nodding once at his self-named devoted friend while pretending not to notice any excess moisture in his eyes.  On either side of Jongdae, the regents sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that was a very romantic confession.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s time for you to kiss now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I rather think my favorite guard would be more than a bit disgruntled at having to see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four of them turn as one to inspect the owner of the burred tenor that is now chuckling at their reaction.  The Spring Court regents lift their delicate chins as if in challenge, regarding the newcomer through narrowed eyes as Baekhyun springs to his feet and drops a graceful bow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crown Prince Silverfrost,” Baekhyun greets.  “Do you really think me one to throw away years of coaxing certain attentions, even if encouraged by high royalty?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost only lifts an elegantly-angled brow in answer.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Jongdae had thought that the King and Queen of the Spring Court were beautiful, this man is simply breathtaking.  His silvery crown is far simpler than theirs, but no adornment could ever surpass the perfection of his face and figure.  His eyes are large and angled like a cat’s, icy opal gaze glinting like some predatory beast approaching with silently-menacing steps.  Against his snow-pale skin, his plush lips are the red of holly berries, and his heart-shaped face is framed by soft white petals from a dozen different blossoms, dominant among which are camellias, whose sweet fragrance washes over Jongdae as the prince drifts to a stop before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The neatly-spiraling white blooms symbolize perfected loveliness, without blemish, and the display is entirely apt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost cuts those gimlet eyes away from the Spring regents to let them trail over Jongdae like trickling snowmelt, sending a shiver down his spine.  Jongdae’s cheeks are now blooming with a whole bed of hibiscus and he finds it difficult to look directly at him, yet he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.  The only thought in his mind is how gorgeous this ethereal man is, this flawless fae prince, eyeing him so consideringly, as if Jongdae were a steed he may be buying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his gaze lands again on Jongdae’s face, that beautiful mouth quirks into a knowing smile, evidently enjoying whatever stupefied expression Jongdae is making.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not half bad for a half-breed,” he says.  “I admit I was skeptical of your faithful fool’s ability to bring the Stormbreaker home, and fully expected the Summer royals to scornfully dismiss whatever obviously unqualified candidate he showed up with.  But there is something of the Summer Court agleam in your topaz eyes, something beyond the familiar cut of cheek and jaw, that signature curl of lips.  There is something intriguing about you, enough that I’m looking forward to watching your devoted present you as our wayward summer-born rose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My eyes are brown,” Jongdae mumbles.  “And I’m hardly a rose—Their Majesties did me the great honor of making me less plain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost tilts his head, and Jongdae is beginning to believe all fae to be vaguely feline in mannerism, if not in looks.  “Your eyes are the clear warmth of a summer sunrise,” he states.  “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>plain</span>
  </em>
  <span> is far from how I’d describe your mien.  If you are the Stormbreaker, you must also be a rose, at heart if not in form.  Your… </span>
  <em>
    <span>exotic</span>
  </em>
  <span> heritage may mask your nature, but it cannot erase it.  If you are indeed our wayward rose returned to Faerie’s fertile magic, you won’t need to borrow blooms for your crown for long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jongdae can come up with any sort of response, the prince lifts his face to the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Diyo!” he calls, voice echoing as if thrown by relentless winter wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my prince?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This new voice, soft and deep as sunkissed slush, turns out to belong to a sturdy-looking fae, capped in a rich violet gladiolus helm with a tight-furled bud of the same carried by a tendril at his side.  He’s arrayed in armor of what appears to be glossy, dark green leaves, overlapping like scale mail and appearing to be part of his body rather than worn atop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is your idiot’s attempt at atonement,” the prince informs him, gesturing gracefully at Jongdae.  “I’m sure you wish him to succeed in having his nobility reinstated, so I give you leave to guard them until such time as his claim to the Summer Court is substantiated or squelched.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But my prince,” the guard protests, “I swore a vow to attend you faithfully unless you’re safe within the Winter Palace.  Will Your Highness be returning home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think not,” Prince Silverfrost says.  “But I don’t intend to cause you undue distress.  I shall accompany them to the Summer Court—surely you are capable of defending us all, and this little hybrid has earned my interest.  He seems quite easily flustered but just as obviously uncowed, and he will need that sturdy stem to face Summer’s scowl.  I wish him success, of course—even Winter grows weary of constant blizzarding—but I think it shall be entertaining to observe, whatever the outcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, the guard seems likely to object to his responsibility increasing threefold.  But he ultimately restores his face to order while Baekhyun stifles a snicker and the Spring Court regents coo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course, my prince,” he says, executing a smart salute.  “It’s always my honor to serve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it is not,” Prince Silverfrost laughs.  “But in this case, you should be happy to have time with your funny little fool, and I promise not to notice if you feel the need to ‘guard’ him behind a hedge for a few moments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if I were interested in such conduct—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which you very much are,” Baekhyun interjects, all lingering traces of earnest heartache and bitter regret gone as if they’d never been expressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—it would be extremely neglectful for me to do such things while on duty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost tuts.  “As if I can’t take care of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you’re so capable, feel free to do so elsewhere,” King Honeythroat sniffs.  “You’re giving the clover frostbite, and Fany abhors a crunchy carpet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost glares, jaw set sharp and icy.  “There’s no need for rudeness,” he huffs.  “We were just going, weren’t we, Diyo?”  He turns a mischievous smile on Jongdae.  “I’m only waiting to be properly introduced to my fascinating traveling companion.  Will you give me your name, oh exotic prince-to-be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae bows smartly, all too acutely aware of how outclassed he is rather than </span>
  <em>
    <span>exotic.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “Utmost honored to make the acquaintance of Your Majesty,” Jongdae says, then hesitates.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows better than to give his true name to a fae.  But he supposedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> fae, at least partly.  Do the rules still apply?  The fae all seem to be using nicknames with each other, so presumably he should have one, too.  He can feel his face heating under Prince Silverfrost’s scrutiny, and supposes it’s not incorrect for them to keep calling him rose-related epithets, as he seems doomed to remain as red as one in the company of all these intimidating, too-attractive royals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Baekhyun saves him again.  “Crown Prince Xiumin Silverfrost, I present to you the Stormbreaker,” he says, polite and firm.  “Of course you may call him as you please, Your Highness, but his true name is a gift he owes no one, royal or no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost laughs.  “Fair enough—if he’s meant to be Summer’s son rising, I’ll call him after the dawn he’s meant to bring.  Would you be amenable to that, intriguing Chen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae blinks.  What’s the proper response to a royal of any kind bestowing a name?  Bowing seems like a safe choice, so he folds back into his most respectful pose, ignoring Baekhyun’s smothered laughter at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you kindly, Your Highness,” he says.  “Of course I have no objections.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile the prince gives him in response is more dazzling than sun on snow, and Jongdae wonders if he should perhaps endeavor to be slightly colder to this Winter prince, if only in self-preservation.  More smiles of that sort seem hazardous to his continued health.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s not sure why he presumed they’d simply stroll through Faerie to the domain of the Summer Court, but he’s truly surprised to see a huge white destrier grazing calmly in a nearby meadow, placidly blinking ice-blue eyes, puffing out clouds of frost over his forage.  But the dangers of fae mounts are well documented in song and story—precious many youth had lost their lives attempting to capture a too-beautiful steed, stuck fast as soon as flesh touched fur.  So Jongdae can only furrow his brow up at Prince Silverfrost when he swings astride the beast, no saddle or bridle in sight, and reaches his hand down as if to pull Jongdae up in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my apologies,” the prince chuckles.  “I can’t say I’ve ever paid attention to mortal customs—they change so quickly, it’s hardly worth the bother, anyway.  Is it more polite these days to offer for you to ride behind me?”  He switches his arm to loop behind his back instead, opening and closing his elegant fingers in invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae tries desperately to look at Baekhyun for clues as to how not to end up on the back of a beast he may never be able to dismount, but to his astonishment, no grinning turnsol-man is in evidence.  Instead, there’s an elegant leafy steed at his shoulder, nudging him with a velvety nose, turnsol florets tumbling down its neck in place of a mane.  He swishes his floret-studded tail, sparkling pink eyes still bearing the lobed pupil distinctive of fae.  Beyond him, there's a second horse covered in leaves that are more like scales, arrayed with purple gladiolus where mane and tail would usually grow.  The Baekhyun-horse nudges Jongdae again, then tosses his elegant head in the direction of his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you have no saddle,” Jongdae says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun whinnies in response, tendrils twining around his midsection to form a sort of seat.  There’s a soft sigh from above Jongdae’s head, and he’s more than a little shocked to look up and catch the Crown Prince of the Winter Court in a perfectly precious pout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae immediately bows, trying not to wince as the icy-white destrier shifts its weight.  “Of course I’m honored that you would think to favor me with such an offer, but as my devoted turnsol has worked so hard to redeem himself—though I, for one, see no fault in his prior actions—it only seems fair to allow him the glory of transporting his find to the Summer Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prince’s pout transforms into a laugh that may be thrice as dangerous.  “Your courtesy at least is not lacking, even if your eyes give your true emotions away.  It’s almost certainly wrong of me to find the green of disconcertion so fetching, but it’s likely a difficult task to find an eye color that doesn’t suit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s rather sure it’s his everblooming cheeks giving his fluster away far more than whatever may or may not be happening with his eyes.  At a loss for any response, courteous or otherwise, Jongdae deems it best to clamber only a little awkwardly onto steed-Baekhyun’s back, thanking his pubescent fascination with a stableboy for giving him a few basic riding skills.  Still, he’s more than a little reassured when more tendrils twine around his waist and thighs, holding him securely in place as Baekhyun darts forward, deferring to the Winter Prince to take the lead position as the prince’s guard follows protectively behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They race over field and dale, hill and bog, clouds and thunder keeping the sky from revealing the passing time, if even it would.  Beneath Jongdae, Baekhyun seems tireless, shimmering coat remaining unlathered, turnsol blooms still fresh after being tugged through the air for what may be hours or moments, the berry-pie scent of them flung into Jongdae’s face.  Ahead of him, the prince and his destrier seem similarly untroubled, the icy equine moving as gracefully as one of the long-limbed royal hunting hounds of Exordium rather than thundering along like a draft horse, though it’s easily half again as large as any draft horse Jongdae’s ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hooves seem to barely skim the tips of the grass for an interminable time, and then a shimmering palace is before them, glowing golden where it can catch brief caresses of the hidden sun’s fleeting rays.  On some signal unseen to Jongdae, Prince Silverfrost reins the destrier in to pace beside Baekhyun, allowing his guard to take point as they draw near what must be the seat of the Summer Court.  The three equines slow as one, coming to an effortless halt before a strip of turf flanked by recurved streams of sparkling water.  They seem to curve back around the palace, and Jongdae would be unsurprised to learn that the Summer Court themselves had been the architects of this extended river-bow, encircling their stronghold with the running water that, to fae, is far more impassable than the tallest walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What folly is this?”  A guard, arrayed in layered ovoid leaves, an orange rhododendron helm, and wielding a tightly-furled bud of the same, flares himself across the path.  “Bobohu, you know you are only tolerated here at Summer’s End.  And Crown Prince Silverfrost, it is surprising that one of such high station would associate with—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae is sure the guard could easily end him regardless of how non-lethal his weaponry seems to be, and he’s sure it’s not his place to speak for the Crown Prince of the Winter Court, but Baekhyun has been nothing but brave and loyal, if a bit indifferent to the plight of individual mortals.  If Jongdae is meant to be a prince, he’s not going to be the kind of prince that lets anyone speak ill of those who don’t seem to deserve it, at least not where he can hear them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve not been in Faerie long, but it seems to me that a prince should be free to associate with whomever he chooses.  And that includes myself—if I’m your long lost prince, then I’ll thank you not to disparage my most devoted companion.  You will escort </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us to the Summer Regents at once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard narrows his fiery orange eyes.  Somehow, Jongdae manages to keep his back straight and his chin lifted.  It may perhaps have something to do with the fact that he can feel Prince Silverfrost’s eyes on him, and he’d rather not look like a wilting weed in front of fae royalty of any kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prince Silverfrost, do you vouch for this stranger’s claims?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say he’s doing a rather decent job of vouching for himself,” Prince Silverfrost laughs.  “He doesn’t look very fae upon initial inspection, I’ll give you that, but when have a mortal’s eyes ever done </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps it’s one of Bobohu’s notorious illusions,” the guard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And perhaps I’m losing my patience,” Jongdae snaps.  He’s not sure where this burst of bravery has come from, but he’d rather not waste it all quibbling with a guard when he’s meant to be impressing more regents.  “If I’m only mortal, then I can’t possibly be a threat to such powerful fae as the Summer Court.  And if I’m not, well.  It’s up to you how you’ll be remembered when they tell the tale of the Stormbreaker’s arrival, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath him, Baekhyun snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside him, Prince Silverfrost snickers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before him, the guard scowls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he does an abrupt about-face, perhaps in some statement of indifference to giving them his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Summer Regents receive visitors in the Grand Solarium, Your Highness,” he states, lingering just long enough on the final syllable to arguably make it plural.  “If you’ll allow me to escort you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost dismounts, so Jongdae makes to do the same, pleased when the tendrils around him gracefully retreat.  He manages not to make a fool of himself as he returns his own feet to the ground and is rewarded with Baekhyun’s boxy grin as he resumes his flower-man appearance.  On his other side, Diyo, the prince’s guard, also resumes his two-legged shape, checking over his gladiolus-bud sword as Prince Silverfrost sends his mighty destrier off to graze with a pat on its well-muscled rump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After you, Prince Stormbreaker.”  Prince Silverfrost gives him an elegant half-bow and a rather impish smile as he gestures for Jongdae to take the lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling very much like an impostor, Jongdae does so, with Diyo at his left flank and Prince Silverfrost at his right, Baekhyun half a step behind.  He’d rather have Baekhyun at his side than the frosty soldier, but he understands that not only is it an honor for Prince Silverfrost to lend his personal guard, Diyo seems much more capable of physically defending Jongdae should the need actually arise.  Still, it rather rankles that his devoted friend is reduced to playing the role of lowly servant, and he vows that if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> accepted as the missing prince, he’ll promote Baekhyun somehow.  He’s saved Jongdae now more times than he’d ever supposedly imperiled him, and turnsols are emblems of forgiveness and acceptance.  Jongdae certainly isn’t going to be the one to withhold such things from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They enter a dome of what seems to be ornately-wrought gold, crystalline panels suspended in the gaps of the filigree.  It’s rather like a greenhouse, though far more fanciful than any Jongdae’s ever seen.  It’s appointed with more wrought-gold furniture nestled among a veritable jungle of plants, flowers that Jongdae’s only seen in botanical studies from the tropics, and some he doubts exist in the mortal realm at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fae as diverse and colorful as the exotic blooms are gathered in twos and threes, some slipping from cluster to cluster, some whispering, some only watching, curious or wary.  In the center of the lush chaos are a quartet of  elaborate golden thrones, sparkling with gemstones that seem to be positioned specifically to dazzle sunlight into the eyes of visitors.  It’s a bit conceited and flashy for Jongdae’s tastes, but of course the occupants are fae, and royalty at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“King Dragonheart and Queen Morningdeer, Crown Princess Amberglow, Prince Stillshimmer: presenting Crown Prince Silverfrost and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard falters, but Jongdae’s devoted friend has no such stumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Prince Chen Stormbreaker, the Summer Court’s own hybrid rose, wayward no longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun’s leaves are folded around his body much more formally than Jongdae’s seen them before, all precise creases and clean angles.  His florets are reduced to tight buds, almost colorless, only Baekhyun’s eyes still bright enough to earn his epithet.  He’s bowed so low his forehead nearly brushes the floor, but he’s angled such that his deference may well be directed at Jongdae rather than the seated members of the Summer Court.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment or an eternity, there’s only silence.  Then it’s shattered like the dusk beneath the song of a nightingale.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>“How dare you profane the memory of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—way that </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> could be—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—think he’s fooling anyone with those roses—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—really sunk to new depths this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cousin!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shocked silence falls as Princess Amberglow leaps from the dais, a constellation of welcoming yellow asters blooming over her head and shoulders.  Smooth green leaves enfold her slim figure in a way that calls a tunic and hose to Jongdae’s mind rather than any sort of gown he’d expect to find on a princess, but he’s learning more and more in Faerie not to expect any particular thing in regard to perceived gender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The princess glides up to him, pausing an arm’s length away to look him up and down with wide golden eyes.  Then, in complete contrast to every expectation Jongdae has of royals of any gender, she leaps for him, enfolding him into an embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’ll sound strange, as we’ve never before met,” she murmurs into Jongdae’s ear as he struggles to determine what exactly to do with his hands.  “But I really, really </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… am very pleased to meet you, too, Your Highness,” Jongdae says, opting to gently pat one shiny green shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are,” she agrees, releasing him.  “I’m delightful.”  She grins up at Jongdae’s astonishment.  “But you must have traveled a long way.  Surely you’re in need of rest and nourishment.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae wonders if it’s part of the magic of Faerie that he doesn’t seem to recognize his own hunger until someone else mentions it.  “I’ve eaten well at the behest of the Spring Regents,” Jongdae says, “but I would not object to sharing a meal with my own Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daughter, your heart is ever hasty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae looks up to see the Summer King looming over them both.  “Your Majesty,” he says, attempting a respectful, yet unsubmissive half-bow as he’d seen Prince Silverfrost do in the presence of other royalty.  If he means for them to believe him their prince—and more and more, Jongdae is sure that he does—then he needs to find it in himself to act like one, confident and bold, expecting to be treated with respect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king gives Jongdae an evaluative look, and Jongdae studies him in turn.  He’s a tall man, arrayed in long, pointed petals of a crimson so deep it may be purple or perhaps even black.  They fan out behind him rather like a butterfly’s wings, further increasing his already-intimidating height.  His gold crown is an elaborate filigree set with garnets the same hue as his petals, and more gold and garnets drape his chest, arms, and even his fingers.  There isn’t much familiar in the lines of his face, unlike his children, whom Jongdae could easily believe his own siblings despite the obvious differences.  The king maintains an expression of regal detachment for a hovering heartbeat before his neutral visage crumples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wear my sister’s smile,” he says, offering a watery smile of his own.  “The one that seems polite to most, but that I always knew meant she could not wait to be done with whatever Court formality she was enduring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae feels his lips try to twist in opposite directions at once.  “I hope that means it’s a forgivable smile,” he manages.  “I am rather unversed in such formalities, though I have no wish to offend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve no wish to see my husband befooled.”  The queen stands at the king’s side, a man shorter in stature than his husband, but with a bearing far more full of subtle menace.  His face is refined, almost pretty, with huge eyes and a finely-pointed chin.  His petals are red, too, and at the moment it’s blunt blooms of wary oleander that frame his noble face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You indeed resemble our long-lost Wild Rose, but you will forgive my desire to protect our family—and our Court—from further heartbreak.  Finding the Stormbreaker hale and home would be a monsoon of fortune, but such a momentous claim must be backed by more proof than a pretty smile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae nods.  Baekhyun had said something about trials.  Surely they wouldn’t be as inane as in the old tales, sorting out piles of intermixed seeds and harvesting whole fields with leather scythes.  “I will do my best,” he vows.  “But I would hope you will keep in mind my simple mortal upbringing and half-mortal body when it comes to determining if I succeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Stormbreaker will agree to no trials where failure risks life or limb,” Baekhyun states firmly.  “I did not seek so long to find him only to lose him to ridiculousness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we’d not imperil him,” Princess Amberglow says, sounding offended at the implication.  “The floricle says no one shall imperil the Stormbreaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> did,” Queen Morningdeer sniffs.  “The floricle is broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The youth at the tavern,” Jongdae mumbles, words sifting through his head and sending other words tumbling from his lips.  But he quickly bites back any further outflow, shaking his head to Baekhyun’s questioning brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broken or not, it seems honorable only to ask for that which even the lowliest fae could achieve, given his hybrid status,” Prince Silverfrost says, sending all royal eyes darting over Jongdae’s right shoulder.  “He resembles the Wild Rose, his eyes reveal his heritage, the fact that he is Princess Brightstorm’s offshoot should not be in question.  What remains to be seen is if this Wayward Rose has what it takes to save two realms, and by what manner he should attempt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence for a moment, and Jongdae feels his heart pound thunder-loud in his ears.  In his excitement to discover his mother’s family, he mustn’t forget the rest of Baekhyun’s gloomy tale.  Baekhyun didn’t bring him here to save his reputation.  He did it to save their entire realm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s racing heart is squeezed by an overwhelming longing to go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he has no home anymore, not in the mortal realm, not here, not unless he can make a space for himself.  And even then, should he not succeed, his home will only last as long as Faerie does.  If the ongoing intermittent thunder is any indication, that duration is perilously short, at least as the fae would count it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will give him more than the usual three trials of worth,” the king suddenly declares.  “Not as a test of who he is, but of what he can do.  As evaluations rather than ordeals.  If he cannot succeed along one avenue, we’ll offer another, until three successes are achieved.  That will satisfy the Rule of Three to officially accept him as a worthy member of the Summer Court, and also give us an idea of how to proceed in our efforts to preserve our realm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretches even taller, turning in all directions to connect with those assembled.  “Are there any with objections?  Any that will not accept our missing prince as returned to us entire after such trials?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a ripple through the crowd like a gust of summer wind, suddenly there and just as suddenly gone.  The sustained silence is evidently answer enough for the king, for he turns back to Jongdae with an almost-steady smile.  “Amberglow will show you to fitting accommodations.  Prince Silverfrost, will you be accepting Summer hospitality for a spell, or are you away once again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost grins, transforming his elegant face into an almost boyish mien.  “If anyone thinks I’m about to rove anywhere just as everything’s getting interesting, they are sorely mistaken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>King Dragonheart chuckles.  “You know you are always welcome at the Summer Court.  I shall have your usual rooms prepared, if that still suits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae doesn’t much care who gets what room, so long as the one he’s shown to has something reasonably soft that he may sprawl atop.  He’s not sure if he’s been up for hours or days, when he ate last, whether he’s actually hungry or merely suggestible at the memory of those honeycakes, actually weary or merely crushed beneath the sudden responsibility of somehow saving two realms.  So he considers it an allowable breach of decorum if he jumps slightly when a small hand slips into his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is dull as donkey teeth,” Princess Amberglow half-whispers at his elbow.  “I’m meant to show you to a ‘fitting’ room, so… care to stay in your mother’s former chambers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Jongdae’s fatigue is swept away by loss and longing, though he was far too young to even remember his mother, a far too vague concept to seemingly long for properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so,” the princess murmurs, then flutters her fingers over his head and her own before tugging him deftly through the crowd.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Princess Brightstorm’s former chambers are surprisingly dust-free for rooms supposedly shut away for over a quarter of a century.  But time isn’t quite the same here, Jongdae reminds himself, and perhaps the soil accumulated by everyday life isn’t the same, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does seem the same is the face regarding him from an ornately-framed portrait, gilded stems and leaves giving rise to golden roses that seem dull in comparison with the painted ones adorning the late princess’s scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father was right,” Jongdae says, blinking extra moisture away.  “She was the prettiest of roses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his side, Princess Amberglow nods.  “She was far more than a pretty face, though.  And so, I believe, are you.”  She regards him searchingly, golden eyes dominated by those lobed pupils in the low light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what I am,” Jongdae confesses.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears surge, but he swallows them back, along with worries about if his father is all right, if he’s actually the king’s son, if he’ll be able to do anything, for the fae or the mortal realm, beyond pretending to be regal and confident so people might look at Baekhyun with a little less scorn, if all of this is some weird fever dream he may or may not ever wake from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the moment, you’re hungry and weary,” the princess states.  “And that, at least, is something I can alleviate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sends tendrils slipping under the door, pulling them back when it opens, admitting Baekhyun and a few others, evidently servants of the Summer Court.  The servants bustle over to the skeletal frame of the bed, urging vines and branches to sprout from the neglected stumps at each corner and weaving them into what looks like a comfortably-suspended mat.  Others are standing by with soft, plump echeveria leaves and oversized lotus petals that will evidently be his bedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun is carrying a gilded tray that he sets upon a wrought-gold table with a round crystalline top, gesturing for Jongdae to sit and eat.  The tray holds floral confections the likes of which Jongdae has never seen, but he’s too hungry to question any of it, dropping into the chair and scooping the offerings into his mouth without really tasting much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to sneak off without you,” Jongdae says, suddenly guilty over how Baekhyun would have felt to turn around and see his retrieved prince had disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t sneak—Her Highness informed me she’d be enjoying the pleasure of your company,” Baekhyun shrugs.  “And even if you had deliberately evaded me, of course that’s only your right—it’s understandable to seek time with your family, or to simply be rid of a servant no longer needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae gapes, then snaps his mouth shut so as not to display his meal mid-chew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are just as much my family as anyone else I’ve met in Faerie, if not more so in most cases,” Jongdae informs him.  “You gave me life as surely as my mother or my father—the man who raised me.  No one better imply anything less where I can hear them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gaze on the golden scrollwork beneath the crystal tabletop, Baekhyun only nods, but Jongdae can still see the smile tugging at his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much to Jongdae’s delight, it lingers there for the remainder of the meal, sending Jongdae to bed afterwards with a small, satisfied smile of his own.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>"Did you rest well, Prince Stormbreaker?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae looks up from his methodical chewing of his breakfast, some sort of custard and fruit croquettes, rolled in candied violets instead of fried, that he’s fairly sure could never hold together in the mortal realm away from fae magic.  Standing over him is Prince Silverfrost, looking fresh as new-fallen snow, soft smile framed by the friendly white acacia flowers draped over his perfectly-formed shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this moment, Jongdae decides it is this ability to look fully vital in the early morning that must truly separate fae from mere mortals.  It’s certainly no boon that Jongdae’s still wearing his sturdy work clothes, rough-spun and stained by grass and dirt, hunched over his breakfast in the great salon like some groundskeeper that wandered in from the yard.  The Winter Prince, like all the other fae dining at nearby tables, is impeccably folded into his petals, today’s style a bit more intricate and frilly than it had been yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully Baekhyun is soon successful in finding some kind of cloth or fabric somewhere, to better clothe a poor excuse for a fae that can’t simply grow his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I rested as well as could be expected, I imagine," Jongdae answers, trying for a light smile of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, Jongdae’s worries seemed to advance along with the velvet fingers of the night, the lull in the storm outside only serving to give way to the tempest of his thoughts.  He hadn’t slept at all until Baekhyun had followed a tendril up to the foot of his bed, bringing with him a cup of valerian root tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your eyes are still beautiful when they’re frost-white, but I would rather see you less burdened by grief."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae frowns.  "My eyes really seem to change color to that extent?  How are you deciding what each color means?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost hooks another woven wicker chair with a tendril, pulling it over to seat himself beside Jongdae.  "You're a royal by birth, if your mother was the Crown Princess of the Summer Court.  Royals, while individually consistent with regard to hue, aren't limited to a single floral form—we change with mood, a sort of concession, I suppose, to ensure our courts have full faith in us.  We can hardly lie when our true intent is thus displayed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, Prince Silverfrost's scalp is currently adorned with a crown of white violets above his silver circlet, candor laid out for all to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I conjecture that your mortal half holds your form more or less static, so your fae nature instead alters hue where it can.  It's spreading, by the by—the roots of your hair are slightly frosted at the moment to match your eyes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae reaches for his scalp, fingers prodding through the surprisingly-fresh and intact crown of roses to massage the parting of his hair, as if the current color would somehow be detectable that way.  Feeling a bit sheepish for the attempt, Jongdae flashes an awkward smile at Prince Silverfrost, who mercifully answers with one friendly rather than condescending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As for meaning, well, the floricle dubs you a rose.  I merely interpret based on the obvious vocabulary."  He hovers long fingers over the plate of croquettes. "May I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course." Jongdae slides the plate evenly between them, then indulges in another himself.  He's discovering fae fare to be quite sustaining, despite its often-insubstantial appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My thanks for your generosity," Prince Silverfrost says when he's dispatched a croquette.  "These are my dear sister's favorite, and it's nice for a change to pluck one from the table without getting my fingers lashed for my impudence."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae smiles around his own mouthful.  "I never had siblings," he says when his mouth is again clear.  "But it rather seems that Crown Princess Amberglow is set on being more of a sister to me than a cousin."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Princess</span>
  </em>
  <span> Amberglow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mouth again full, Jongdae can only quirk a brow, which makes him briefly wonder if they'll start changing color, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Brightstorm was the Crown Princess. In absentia, rule passed to her brother. But you are her direct offshoot.  As soon as you pass your trials, the succession will fall to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae couldn’t begin to guess at his current eye color.  He's not sure roses have a traditional hue for "complete mind obliteration."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost seems highly amused at whatever visage Jongdae is presenting him with.  "That's why the queen has reservations about you," he explains softly.  "She knows exactly who you are.  But she knows her daughter will be a wise and well-loved king.  While </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were raised by what many fae see as unthinking savages."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But the explanation Keenglimmer gave me was that I was meant to remain in the mortal realm.  To be Exordium's king, and turn their kingdom away from iron."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you also were to be King of Summer, ‘bridging courts.’"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun had said he'd be tending Court here, too.  Yet it hadn't quite sunk in that he was somehow to be doing both at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't I allow Princess Amberglow to be king in my stead?  She certainly seems better prepared for such duties."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost shakes his snowy head, puffy balls of viburnum bouncing around his shoulders.  "There is no abdication in Faerie.  Otherwise we'd all do it—no one with any sense actually wishes to be king.  It's much better to be second or third in line for a crown—most of the power, but little of the responsibility.  Why do you think Princess Amberglow is so happy to have you home, with none of her mother's defensiveness?  I can assure you it's not because she hasn't realized what your official acceptance means."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae frowns down at the last croquette before sliding the plate in front of Prince Silverfrost, appetite gone.  "I thought she simply liked me," he mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, she genuinely does, have no doubts," Prince Silverfrost assures him.  "Royals can't falsify sincerity, remember?  I meant more that she doesn't have any reason to withhold her natural affection from you as a sudden 'threat' to her birthright.  And it's not that the queen is selfish or ambitious on her daughter's behalf.  She simply seeks to pass the rule of the Summer Court into responsible hands, so she and the king can retire on schedule.  As I said, no one actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoys </span>
  </em>
  <span>the burden of the crown, but it's only escaped by marrying the regent of another court—making the interroyal courting scene rather less than romantic, sad to say—or by procreation and eventual succession.  The current Summer Regents have been active for the equivalent of two human lifetimes, and I'm sure she doesn't relish the prospect of spending two more whipping a feral prince into passable shape."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s sure his eyes are dyed the mind-obliteration hue again.  "I'm only a score and six years old," he breathes.  "I knew time moved differently here, but…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost smiles gently when he trails off.  "Your court jester has been searching for you for a long time.  I'm sure he's relieved not only to have finally found you, but to have won your high regard, even if the rest of the Summer Court isn't as quick to forgive and forget."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He’s a bard, not a jester, and he's a truly good one, at that," Jongdae snarls.  "He </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be something far more prestigious than that—a vizier or chancellor or archduke or whatever rank is the fae equivalent of 'indispensable advisor and unfailing ally.'  How anyone could blame him for doing his very best to prepare to serve his queen in saving the entirety of two realms is ridiculous.  Even if he'd been there when Exordium’s king lost all reason, what could he have done, with his magic in need of renewal?  Died with her?  Is that truly what they expected?  And who would have come for me, then, all these years later?  This elite cadre?  In all my years of following the old ways, the only sign of any fae I'd ever seen was consumed offerings, so you tell me who needs forgiveness: those who feasted four times a year without ever considering that </span>
  <em>
    <span>perhaps </span>
  </em>
  <span>they ought to look a little more closely at the scant score of households that still kept up the old rituals in a kingdom that had banned them, or the one that whisked me to safety just ahead of a murderous blade?  The entire Summer Court should be begging </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgiveness, if the opinion of the supposedly-wronged party actually means anything in such a judgment."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stops for a much-needed breath, Jongdae immediately regrets his tone, though he stands by his words.  Fortunately, Prince Silverfrost seems entirely unoffended.  In fact, he's grinning, wide and impish, eyes locked somewhere over Jongdae’s left shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forcing himself not to cringe, Jongdae slowly turns to follow the prince’s gaze.  To his dismay (but no particular surprise), the entire Summer royal family is clustered behind him like a bouquet too tightly clutched.  And just beyond them, bearing an armful of what appears to be actual mortal fabric, is Baekhyun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're all gaping at Jongdae, who gapes right back, a vignette of mortification frozen in the middle of Summer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over his right shoulder, Prince Silverfrost guffaws in a rather unprincely manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In front of him, King Dragonheart cracks a sheepish smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, now," he says.  "Evidently our hybrid rose has thorns.  You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> the offshoot of my bold, injustice-intolerant sister.  And absolutely right, as she generally was."  He turns, and the entire salon gasps when he inclines his comet orchid-crowned head to the still-frozen Baekhyun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have my sincerest apologies, Honorable Keenglimmer, and those of the Summer Court.  Grief goaded for a target, and your guilt, though unfounded, made you an easy one.  All respect and privileges  accorded to your rightful station are reinstated immediately as if they’d never been revoked, and anyone who takes issue with that is free to come to me—though I must say I'm tempted to send them to our Stormbreaker.  There is something to be said for the efficient verbal disemboweling delivered by one entirely untrained in formal diplomacy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A handful of nervous titters ripple through the crowd as the Summer King turns back to Jongdae.  "However, in the interest of avoiding further slander, intentional or otherwise, you should know that our cadre </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> investigate those who still honored us, including the royal gardener and his boy.  Several times, in fact.  To their eyes, you didn't look at all as you do now.  The magic of royal fae is potent to begin with, and maternal devotion is strong, even when one’s offshoot isn’t set to be the savior of two realms.  I’m unsurprised that, even as diminished as she was, my sister evidently still had enough to place powerful protection over her child.  We did not find you because she didn't wish you found."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then I shall apologize as well," Jongdae says, standing up to bow properly.  "I should not have cast aspersions without knowledge of the entire situation.  From the way you speak about the Wild Rose, I am sure you did everything possible to look for her and her child."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king inclines his head in acknowledgment.  "A bit informal, but certainly not ill-mannered," he says approvingly.  "Shall we discover what other traits our risen son possesses?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, certainly," Prince Silverfrost says, standing to drape an arm over Jongdae’s shoulder and blind him with a glittering grin.  "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>this would be entertaining."</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Fae are fickle.  So Jongdae’s always been told, but he’s never been more sure of the fact than after walking for moments or centuries, wrist once again clasped in Baekhyun’s hand, the fae’s tendrils wound tight over his eyes.  He’s even more sure when the grip disappears with the command to remain still, and the tendrils unwrap from his face an interminable time later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae, alone, empty-handed, is stood on a crystalline ledge barely wide enough for his feet to fit on.  The wall of the cliff behind him is glass-smooth against his fingers, sweaty palms slipping alarmingly as he presses back against the surface.  He’s never felt more naked and exposed, despite the elaborately embroidered sleeveless doublet and matching silken hose Baekhyun had managed to find in the depths of the Summer Palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not useful for Jongdae to assume they once belonged to some other hapless mortal, who followed a fae across realms but failed to earn a place beside them in the Summer Court or any other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stormbreaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae lifts his eyes from the jagged crystals spiking the valley far below him, hoping he looks far more placid than he feels to the smiling bard and the assembled witnesses on the other side of the chasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure which blooms redder, your eyes or your cheeks,” he laughs, evidently enjoying Jongdae’s fluster.  “The Summer Court has given me the honor of preparing your first trial myself.  I know it </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> fearsome, but remember—succeed or fail, you will come to no physical harm.  Our illustrious King Dragonheart himself awaits on a ledge below with Prince Stillshimmer.  They will slow your fall and retrieve you safely if need be.  The only thing at risk is your dignity, though, for fae, that feels lethal enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the trial?” Jongdae asks.  “Am I to climb up or down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither—you simply need to cross the chasm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how am I to do that?”  Jongdae fights to keep an unprincely whine from slipping free.  “I haven’t wings or tendrils or any sort of magic.  You’ve given me no tools. This is designed for me to fail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s designed for only a worthy prince to succeed,” Baekhyun calls back.  “And you, my liege, are more than worthy.  Your devoted friend awaits to joyfully receive our returning rose—to winnow Summer’s gold from dross, straight away our prince must cross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop aiding him,” Diyo hisses at Baekhyun’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet I always aim to aid,” Baekhyun replies, sticking his tongue out at the guard in a far more playful way than he deals with anyone else.  “For my long-lost liege, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diyo only rolls his violet eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae rolls his own eyes downward, upward, to either side, all without moving more than his head.  He knows they won’t renounce him for failing this.  He’s sure that his mother’s brother wouldn’t fail to catch him if he fell.  But he’s certainly not going to make a convincing picture of the returning savior if he tumbles screaming into the arms of the Summer King, so Jongdae earnestly desires to succeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun said he’d set up this trial.  He’d said it </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> fearsome.  He’d instructed Jongdae to cross straight away, and gotten chided for his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fae are fickle, but not his devoted turnsol.  Mortals, per his tragic tale, so skillfully illustrated, are more than a little fickle as well.  Jongdae was born as a bridge, and the King of Exordium did his best to burn it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Jongdae </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bridge… perhaps he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Summer Queen is standing with his daughter a safe distance behind Baekhyun, there to observe on behalf of the Summer Court.  Perhaps, there to see if the son is as faithless as the sire.  He’s still arrayed in ruby-red oleander, distrustful, cautious,  But Princess Amberglow is bedecked in goldenrod—still cautious, but also encouraging.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae focuses on his cousin’s tentative smile.  And without looking down to see if the Summer King is truly waiting to catch him, Jongdae takes a deep breath and steps forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a gasp from the assembled onlookers.  But it quickly becomes a hesitant cheer when Jongdae’s foot falls solid and secure, as if he hadn’t just stepped into thin air.  He grits his teeth against the screaming urge to look down, trusting that the next step will be just as solid as the last.  He takes another step, and another.  Six steps, then a dozen.  His eyes shift to Baekhyun, whose smile is wide enough to swallow the sun.  And when that smile is hovering within arm’s reach, Jongdae lets himself be pulled into an embrace, enfolded into far more limbs and tendrils than can possibly belong to a single fae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me I did not lose control of my bladder in front of the Queen,” Jongdae huffs into the berry-scented florets draping over Baekhyun’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would I be this close to you if you had?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Amberglow pulls away, face contorted and goldenrod sprays retreating into clusters of buds.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>"I</span>
  </em>
  <span> certainly wouldn't.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun releases him with a chuckle, and Jongdae tries to coax his heart into reducing its gallop to a mere canter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impressive, oh feral prince.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost is also very close to Jongdae, an arm and a few tendrils draped across his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did say you’d enjoy  a good show,” Jongdae says.  With his eyes downcast and the roots of his hair currently tilted away from the Winter Prince, perhaps he can pretend his racing heart is entirely related to the rush of passing the first trial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bashful-pink rose petals suddenly unfurling over Jongdae’s shoulders like a pair of blushing epaulettes are not nearly so discreet.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Prince Stillshimmer is as tall and lean as his father, his damsire’s wary eyes tempered with a touch of his sister's mischief.  Elegant blue dahlias bloom over his scalp most of the time, but at the moment, it’s playful delphinium that adorns Summer’s prince as he gives Jongdae an appraising look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This trial is going to be most diverting," he says, one corner of his already-upturned lips twisting further skyward.  "Well.  For me, at least."  The restlessly-intermittent thunder silvering the clouds above them seems to laugh along with the Summer Prince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae feels his own lips quirk in response.  "I'm sure you will enjoy your triumph," he agrees.  "But I will do my best to make you work for it, at least."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This draws a wider smile and an elegant incline of the head.  Then Prince Silverfrost, as visiting regent and therefore an uninvested party incapable of true deceit, gleefully rings the large bronze bell that signals the match to begin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out that, to the fae, raising a weapon to another is something only done in actual combat or in formal training for the same.  Fae youth do not cross sticks as play swords, there are no tourneys between guards, no mock-melees with blunted weapons.  War is very serious business, reserved for the most dire of circumstances.  For showing off and petty disputes between the Courts or within them, there's faerie-ring wrestling, at which Jongdae had lost miserably earlier, and the contest of the bell, at which he's determined to at least lose more slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rules are simple: each side has an equal number of players, either three, seven, or nine as the contestants agree.  They face off on either side of a bronze bell set in the center of the contest grounds, the boundaries of which have been clearly marked out to an agreed-upon size.  When the designated officiant rings the bell, each team sends one or more of their number racing to make contact with the boundary at their backs, then return to the bell at the center.  They may use all abilities at their command and any resources within the designated grounds to aid their side or hamper the other so long as blood is not drawn nor consciousness lost, and only contestants who have touched the far boundary may make an attempt at the bell.  The first team to ring the bell is declared triumphant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is evidently Prince Stillshimmer's most enjoyed diversion, and Jongdae expects a new bouquet of bruises to be unapologetically added to those he'd sustained at the comical excuse for a wrestling match.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Summer Prince has graciously agreed to a few alterations of the rules, both to focus the contest on Jongdae’s performance and in concession of his naturally inferior skills and abilities.  Instead of any number of players being eligible to touch the far boundary and attempt to ring the bell, only Jongdae and Prince Stillshimmer are permitted to do so.  They each have the minimum of two additional team members, to ensure that the victory would hinge as much as possible on the two designated bellringers.  The length of the contest grounds have also been shortened to a distance Jongdae deems achievable to dash down and back without winding himself overmuch, the traditional length of one league being nothing much for fae stamina but well beyond Jongdae’s modest athleticism.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the rules are still in effect, including the use of fae abilities. So when Jongdae sprints away at the sound of the bell, he does so hand in hand with Princess Amberglow, her shared gift of concealment keeping them from being seen or heard.  At the same time, three other images of Jongdae dash off through the woods, thanks to Baekhyun’s illusory skills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're pursued by the rhododendron guard that had initially opposed their entrance to the Summer Court, called Valorglint, whose gift of speed does him little good versus Baekhyun’s illusions, and the Summer Queen himself, who sends legions of pebbles levitating through the trees to sting against their invisible forms, revealing their presence where the missiles bounce away from nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gamely, Jongdae runs on, hearing the distant gong that signals Prince Stillshimmer's contact with his boundary when he's barely halfway to his own.  Princess Amberglow does her best to pull Jongdae into additional speed, the tug of her hand in his succeeding in lengthening the distance between his footfalls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's honestly surprised not to hear the ringing of the center bell before the sound of the gong as his flailing arm passes through the shimmering boundary, but he lets Princess Amberglow grapple with the Queen at their heels and starts back for the center without questioning his good fortune overmuch.  Later he would be unsurprised to learn that Baekhyun, capable of creating a vast illusory canyon, is also more than able to conceal a massive bronze bell with the illusion of empty woods, which would explain why Jongdae ends up face to face with a bemused Prince Stillshimmer halfway back to the center.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly realizing he's overshot, Prince Stillshimmer turns as Jongdae dodges past him, using his own gift to slow Jongdae’s bounding stride as if he’s leaping through the thickest honey instead of air.  The sensation only lasts a moment, however, as Baekhyun careens into Prince Stillshimmer’s side, disrupting his concentration at the cost of dissolving his own illusions as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Jongdae can see it—the sheen of polished bronze through the matte browns of the trees.  Thunder growls overhead as Jongdae darts forward, finding a burst of energy he didn’t know he possessed at the thought of possibly succeeding at this near-impossible challenge.  He’s close enough to see the graceful curve of the bell’s shoulder when he’s struck down by Valorglint’s charging form, Jongdae’s yell of dismay echoed by another thunderclap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so close, it’s utterly ridiculous.  He fully expected to lose before he even touched the far boundary, so the fact that he’s in sight of the bell as Prince Stillshimmer glides up from behind him should make him feel well accomplished indeed.  But the sight of victory only makes it harder to cede, and Jongdae kicks free of Valorglint’s twining tendrils to scramble desperately in the prince’s wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thunder seems to echo for eons in Jongdae’s ears as he’s caught once again by Prince Stillshimmer’s slowing snare, the prince giving him an impish wink as he lopes past Jongdae toward the gleaming bronze of victory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”  The drawn-out word sounds dull and distorted to Jongdae’s ears as he stretches his lagging limbs long, determined to ring the bell first even as he’s sure it’s impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But ‘impossible’ doesn’t truly exist in Faerie, and Jongdae is sharply reminded of this fact when a blinding-white tine of lightning leaps from the clouds above to his outstretched fingers, then shoots from the suddenly-numb digits to dance over the polished bronze surface.  The percussion of the thunder carried in its wake coaxes the bell to ring out through the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Stillshimmer’s fist impacts the singing metal a butterfly’s wing-flap later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perched in a nearby tree as judge, Prince Silverfrost laughs so hard he seems in danger of tumbling to the forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I win,” the Summer Prince declares.  “That was impressive, but I touched the bell first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The rules only say he has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ring</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bell, not make physical contact with it,” Prince Silverfrost points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t ring it, the thunder did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the thunder was only close enough to affect the bell due to Prince Stormbreaker’s actions.  It would not have rung at that moment without his influence.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> caused it to ring, therefore, he rung it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that were legitimate, contestants could simply hurl missiles, manipulate trees, or call an animal to ring the bell as soon as they touched the boundary,” Queen Morningdeer says as he steps up behind his son.  “That is not the intention of the contest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did not use the impact of any other creature or object.  It was simply the result of an induced natural phenomenon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then your soldier could simply shake the earth beneath the bell to win,” Prince Stillshimmer says.  “There would be no point to the contest if such gifts were allowed to be used thusly.  The outcome would be inevitable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some examination of the rules seems in order,” King Dragonheart says, fluttering down from his own arboreal watching point.  “But that does not change the impressive nature of the hybrid rose’s performance.  I declare Prince Stillshimmer to have won the contest of the bell, but Prince Stormbreaker to have passed this trial.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Summer Queen and his son trade looks as the remaining team members come stumbling out of the woods, Baekhyun and Princess Amberglow assisting Valorglint, who seems to have an injured ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will not dispute that,” the Queen says finally.  “If the aim of these trials is to discover the Stormbreaker’s quality, then this contest was certainly a success.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The trials the following day do not go nearly as well.  The morning sees him chuckling hopelessly over the classic seed-sorting task, plucked from the old tales to plague him after all.  The afternoon is spent failing at a contest of riddles—the only ones Jongdae knows are the ones from song and legend, and it turns out the fae are familiar with those as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all distorted, embellished accounts of actual encounters between mortals and fae,” King Dragonheart explains after Jongdae complains about the Summer King’s uncanny knowledge of mortal entertainment fare.  “Why do you expect to be able to baffle us with our own riddles, no matter how old or obscure the tale?  Unlike humans, fae have long lives and longer memories.  Of course I’ve heard them all before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Jongdae finds himself standing before the most complex knot he’s ever seen.  Well, more like knot upon knot, a knobbly tangle of cording looped through and around two delicate porcelain amphorae as tall as Jongdae himself.  The strands of woven silk are crossed and recrossed, tied and re-tied before, during, and after each loop through an amphora’s handle or around its delicate neck.  It’s a classic trial, so he’s not surprised to see it, but the conditions they’ve set make the classic solution impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Separate these two amphorae without damaging either of them,” Queen Morningdeer instructs from just outside the doorway.  “You may use anything in this room to assist your efforts, but you may </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> use the resources in this room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae nods his understanding, more than a little tempted to simply smash the fancy vases straight away and be done with this tedious nonsense.  But this one is at least achievable in theory, whereas future trials may hinge upon fae knowledge or abilities he doesn’t possess, like the riddles or the seeds.  The answer to one of the riddles had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>a sidhe-cat,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a creature Jongdae had never even heard of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re ferocious beasts, three times the size of a mortal draft horse and vastly more deadly than any predator your realm has ever seen.  It’s said they enjoy toying with their prey for days before finally gnawing their heads off, but that’s not important at the moment,” King Dragonheart had said.  “The important thing at the moment is that you lose—again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Jongdae looks around the sparsely-furnished room, peering beneath the bentwood table and even turning over the wicker chairs to see if someone may have left a stray knife stuck to the bottom of one for an unfathomable reason.  Nothing, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he can still do this the hard way, if he must.  He lifts a knot to inspect it, yelping in dismay when the slight disturbance of the cord causes both amphorae to topple towards him.  But they fall surprisingly slowly, so slowly that a pair of tendrils can easily stretch down from above to coil securely around the handles of each vessel, arresting their descent and drawing Jongdae’s astonished gaze up to their origin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d be way too clumsy for this,” Prince Stillshimmer tuts, hopping down from the living rafter upon which he’d evidently been perched.  His tendrils still stretch upward, wrapped around the sturdy branch before angling down to rein in the unsteady porcelain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness,” Jongdae says with an easy half-bow that he may or may not have perfected in front of the full-length crystal mirror in his mother’s former chamber, Prince Silverfrost correcting his posture with kind words and cool hands until Jongdae had been confident in the maneuver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness, yourself,” the prince laughs.  “Aren’t we family?  You’ll call me Tao, and I’ll call you Chen.  There’s hardly a need for formalities and titles between us, especially because you’re both older and outrank me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sister said you were threescore and seven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.  That doesn’t change the fact that you were born first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae fears he may never become accustomed to the way time works between the two realms.  He wonders how much time has passed for his father, if he’d rabbited himself up to the meadow frequented by his shepherd friends, if he’s even still alive or if the years had rushed past the man who raised him in one blink of Jongdae’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Tao’s voice pulls him back to the present.  “Care for some assistance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae furrows his brow, seeing the petals on his shoulder go greenish out of the corners of his eyes.  “Isn’t that against the rules?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Queen said you could use anything in the room, and I was here when she made that pronouncement,” Tao answers easily, strolling behind the amphorae to inspect the knot from that angle.  “No one ever looks up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae lets his smile dominate his face.  “Well, in that case, I would be truly foolish not to take advantage of all the resources available to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you may be half-mortal, but you, Cousin Chen, are certainly no fool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Tao’s tendrils keeping the delicate porcelain from fatally encountering the smooth stone floor, the knot becomes a puzzle that seems much more conquerable.  Working side by side with his cousin is much less awkward and intimidating than Jongdae had initially feared—Prince Stillshimmer might be a little haughty, a bit distant, not one for unnecessary words, but once he’s relaxed into being simply Tao, he’s far softer, much sweeter, and incredibly chatty.  It takes them what seems like hours, the moon struggling to shine through the stormclouds outside, but they manage to loosen the knots enough to end up seated in the wicker chairs between the vases, back to back, each with a tangle of cord in their lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we could simply cut this apart,” Jongdae sighs, pushing at one leg of a loop, trying to force it beneath a tightly-crossing strand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would certainly be faster,” Tao agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If only we had a pair of shears, or a knife, or even a shard of crystal or something—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think of Crown Prince Silverfrost?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden question is as shocking as yesterday’s lightning bolt, a feat he has yet to be able to reproduce, much to his chagrin.  “I—Prince Silverfrost?  He’s… been utmost kind and helpful,” Jongdae reasons.  “I see no cause to think ill of him.  But I also feel as though I hardly know him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He certainly seems to wish to know you better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he?”  Jongdae’s glad Tao’s back is pressed against his, so that the deep flustered pink of his petals—and half the length of his hair, at this point—doesn’t provide his cousin with any reason to tease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does.  I’ve known him for a while—stamens, this twist is tight—and he’s never been half so interested in courting anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s fingers freeze between loops of cord.  “C-courting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He shares meals with you, finds excuses to touch, and he’s covered in white winter jasmine more often than not when he’s anywhere near you.  I know humans aren’t exactly the same, but is courtship that different for you that his bouquet is unrecognizable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae shrugs.  “White jasmine represents amiability, and he’s easygoing.  I see nothing particularly—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all that white jasmine symbolizes to humans?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae swallows.  “Well… no.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It also represents attachment.  And sensuality.  On his shoulders, Jongdae’s petals brighten to an unsubtle orange, which makes the indication of fascination, desire and perhaps even secret love in no way a secret for anyone who sees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course Tao is twisting his long torso to do just that.  “So you return his interest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… didn’t quite realize he had any such interest,” Jongdae says.  “But… I’m certainly not… opposed to the idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent, then you’ll marry him,” Tao states, as if saying it aloud made it inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—what?  Isn’t that moving a little fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t showing up and demanding to be acknowledged as the Crown Prince within days of your arrival moving a little fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your days seem to last for years!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I haven’t any true ambition to be the Crown Prince </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jongdae says.  “I only wish to know my family, to have legitimacy and aid when I attempt to set right what my bloodsire threw askew.  I know the floricle says I’m meant to bridge courts and realms and all that, but if I’m meant to rule Exordium and bring it back to the old ways, how would I have time to also tend the Summer Court properly?  I know I’m prophesied to be the savior, but I’m still only one man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tao snorts.  “You needn’t bridge Exordium with the Summer Court specifically.  The floricle says, “summer-born, yet embraced by frost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it’s Jongdae that twists in his seat to stare at his cousin.  “So… you aim for me to be fully acknowledged as the Stormbreaker, the Summer Court’s lost son—and then marry the Crown Prince of the Winter Court, so I can give up my crown and the Summer Court remains in your sister’s capable hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… really does sound best,” Jongdae says, fingers worrying at the knots once again.  “Prince Silverfrost will become King of the Winter Court eventually, but he’ll be able to handle that well enough even if his spouse is preoccupied with the governance of a different kingdom.  So I would only have Exordium to worry about, and human kingdoms have lots of advisors and staff to delegate the actual administration to—I would only need to learn to lead the other leaders, and presumably a spouse who’d always been raised to be a king would be able to help with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m quite glad these trials have proven you to be wise as well as brave, determined, and clever,” Tao says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a tap on Jongdae’s shoulder, and he turns to see his cousin offering him a pair of shears, ornate golden handles glittering faintly in the scant ribbons of moonlight.  Slack-jawed, he looks up at Tao’s satisfied smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crown Prince Xiumin Silverfrost of the Winter Court has formally requested leave from King Jiaheng Dragonheart to court Crown Prince Chen Stormbreaker of the Summer Court—as soon as he be so confirmed, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae accepts the shears with a wry grin.  “Manipulation of this sort is exactly the reason all mortal tales of your kind describe you as devious and self-serving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind,” Tao corrects with an unrepentant smile, his golden circlet overgrown with blue snapdragons, willful, presumptive, deceptive.  “Long live the future Queen of the Winter Court.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The gala to celebrate Prince Chen Stormbreaker’s acknowledgment by the Summer Court and his subsequent betrothal is lavish and elaborate.  Jongdae’s sure that at least one of the floral confections he’d popped into his mouth over the course of the event had been merely intended as a table decoration, if the amused looks from his betrothed were any indication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His betrothed.  It still doesn’t seem real.  Hadn’t it been barely a week ago that he’d been only the gardener’s boy, whose highest personal ambition had been a little fooling around behind the royal smithy with the muscular new apprentice who seemed to have a personal hatred for covering his torso while he worked?  Now, Jongdae’s been declared royal himself, and is betrothed to a man who can apparently hide whatever features he so chooses beneath the leaves that clothe him.  Or perhaps are part of him.  Jongdae’s still not completely sure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems impolite to ask, but it’s also a bit concerning that Prince Tao had sworn by floral reproductive organs while untying all those knots.  He’s not at all sure of what he’ll be presented with on his wedding night, but he will find a way to make it work.  They must be compatible enough—fae are always seducing humans in song and story, so presumably it’s pleasing enough for both parties, and nothing Jongdae need waste worry on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Silverfrost—or merely Xiumin to him, now that they’re betrothed—is no hardship to look at for the rest of Jongdae’s life, he’s kind and courteous and, now that Tao has pointed it out, seems rather smitten with Jongdae.  He supposes that watching all of his trials—successes and failures—has given Xiumin a pretty clear idea of Jongdae’s character, enough that it doesn’t seem quite so abrupt that he’d pursue a betrothal so quickly.  But all Jongdae’s really learned about his future husband is that behind his pretty manners and amicable nature, there seems to be a bit of an impish streak.  He seems to be well-regarded nonetheless, and Baekhyun had approved him as a suitor immediately.  It seems enough for now—they’ll have time enough to get to know each other, and if they can’t stand each other down the line, they might each retreat to their respective kingdoms whenever practical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jongdae hopes to be able to love his husband and be loved in return.  He has a duty to his mother’s memory and to the realm of Faerie to protect it from iron’s corruption, and he intends to fulfill that duty.  But it seems that his lifetime will be long, far longer than an ordinary mortal, and Jongdae would prefer it be a happy one if at all possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Xiumin smiles indulgently when Jongdae frowns at his empty plate, then places two more profiteroles before him might only be initial infatuation, but it’s still sweetly flattering.  Jongdae sees no reason not to enjoy it.  So he leans in when Xiumin presses close against his side, allows the hand to rest occasionally on his knee below the table, smiles at the surprise in Xiumin’s eyes after Jongdae repays one hand-fed bite with another.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s always sweet, fizzy mead in his goblet no matter how many toasts he drinks to himself, his betrothed, his late mother, King Dragonheart, his family, or simply the Summer Court entire.  Yet no matter how much he drinks, Jongdae doesn’t feel tipsy, only a bit giddy, something that seems to both amuse and impress Xiumin as the crescent moon claws its way up its staircase of stormclouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is mortal mead more potent, or are you simply of above-average fortitude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae shrugs.  “I hold my own at the tavern, but I’ve not had mead this fine before.  Perhaps I’m simply too ebullient to succumb to other intoxication.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin’s smile sharpens.  “Ebullient, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae ignores the betrayal of his orange petals and attempts a coy half-shrug.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  The most beautiful fae in all the realm is smiling at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin throws his head back and laughs, as bright and clear as a crisp winter morning.  “You’ve been all but oblivious to my efforts to gain your regard, and now you flaunt your charms?  I’ve already offered for you, have I not?  There’s no call for such appeal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pleased you find me appealing,” Jongdae laughs, his orange attributes darkening to the brown of fascinated anticipation.  “I should like it very much if your lovely winter jasmine were oft on display for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have many blooms I’d love to show you, some that I’ve yet to share with anyone,” Xiumin says, smile bright but eyes soft.  “Ranunculus, primula, chrysanthemum, honeysuckle, peony…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s cheeks and petals become deeper and deeper red at the increasingly intimate implications, but then Xiumin sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But alas, you may not even care to see them after you’re introduced at the Winter Court.  My parents can be a little… icy with new people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if we’re already betrothed, surely they’ll accept your choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, they will… after they make sure you’re ‘worthy.’  As if there could be any doubt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae frowns.  “Should I assume that means more trials?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin’s nod is as sympathetic as the white statice framing his handsome face.  “More trials.” </span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>For this trip across Faerie, Jongdae doesn’t hesitate to let Xiumin pull him up onto the back of the big white destrier, though he does insist on sitting behind his betrothed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taller than you,” he points out in the face of Xiumin’s pout.  “Shouldn’t the one who actually knows how to handle this beast be the one who’s able to see where we’re going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Graupel knows the way without guidance.  I’m free to be distracted by my delightful newly-betrothed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out that confirming his interest in the Winter Prince had unleashed a veritable blizzard of affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, your newly-betrothed would prefer to be presented to the Winter Court in one piece and undishevelled,”Jongdae counters.  “So if you’d indulge me by facing front and throwing a few tendrils around me—not </span>
  <em>
    <span>there,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I assure you that’s quite secure—then I’ll indulge you by wrapping my arms around you for the duration of the ride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin heaves a beleaguered sigh, but ultimately cooperates, settling properly onto Graupel’s back and looping some supportive tendrils around Jongdae’s waist and below his feet.  His sigh is far more contented when Jongdae slips his arms around Xiumin’s middle, a little hesitantly at first, wary of crushing any bloom or leaf.  But Xiumin grasps Jongdae’s wrists and crosses them tightly over his torso, snugging Jongdae right up against his back.  It’s a bit awkward, but the garland of snowy jonquils that bloom around Xiumin’s silver circlet inspire Jongdae to embrace him more tightly, the leaves wrapping his torso smooth beneath his palms.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fae prince would of course be too dignified to speak such words aloud, especially where anyone else may hear, and Xiumin would likely play them off as indicating simple desire should Jongdae point them out.  But the more common meaning of the late-winter blooms is as a request for one’s affection to be returned.  Xiumin desires more than Jongdae’s attention, feels more than simple attraction.  He wishes for Jongdae to be fond of him, fond of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>in return,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jongdae is more than glad to be seated behind this incredibly endearing creature he’s somehow now betrothed to.  He’s sure his petals are betraying his own tender feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea the fae were so eager to be caressed,” Jongdae says, smiling against the dark leaves of Xiumin’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are no such thing,” Xiumin huffs.  “Unless we are newly betrothed to someone of extraordinary appeal.  And then it’s only natural to crave a little contact.”  The jonquils wither, replaced by statice.  “That is, assuming said betrothed is amenable to such.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae tightens his embrace again for a moment.  “Of course I’m amenable.  I did not agree to wed you expecting to be treated like some priest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The jonquils spring open once again, brightening the day in a way the cloud-shrouded sun is failing to do.  “We have no call for priests in Faerie, but I, for one, am quite happy to do plenty of worshipping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look he gives Jongdae over his shoulder is heated enough to turn him deep red from head to heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae is saved from finding some response by an angry whicker.  The dark green, gladiolus-bedecked warhorse that is Diyo’s equine form is dancing to the side, away from Baekhyun who’s trying to climb up onto his back.  It would be a challenging endeavor even with Diyo’s cooperation, as Baekhyun had coaxed him to carry all of Jongdae’s luggage by flattering his greater strength and endurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had worked, eventually.  Diyo had assumed his travel-ready form, woven tendril-baskets on his sides, and allowed Baekhyun to pile them high with all the ornate, tailored clothing Xiumin had procured somewhere as his betrothal gift to Jongdae.  Jongdae had protested, unable to reciprocate such excessive generosity, but Xiumin had dismissed his objections with a wave of his silver-ringed fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look entirely fetching in a tunic and hose, my modest rose, but you will surely suffer in Winter’s cold if you have only that to wear.  It is my home that is inhospitable for my betrothed, and it is therefore my duty to mitigate that and ensure your comfort.  We fae take hospitality very seriously—you incur no obligation by allowing me the honor of hosting you properly in my own domain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s comfort seems to depend on rather a lot of furs, which resist being folded tidily into the baskets and require rather a lot of tendrils to contain.  It doesn’t leave a lot of room on Diyo’s back for a person, but Baekhyun seems undeterred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Dee, let me ride you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A decidedly negative snort as Diyo shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me ride you,” Baekhyun insists, wedging a toe in one of the baskets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It leaves him hopping awkwardly when Diyo again snorts and shifts away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, your footing is so much more secure on the ice and snow,” Baekhyun wheedles.  “Would you see me slip and bend a tendril?  You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> my tendrils.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diyo stops shifting, giving Baekhyun the most withering look any equine could possibly deliver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun only bats his eyelashes, florets wiggling above his head.  “Pleeease?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a huff, Diyo rolls his violet eyes and drops his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a gleeful shout, Baekhyun clambers up to wedge himself between the baskets, his own tendrils entwining with them as if he’s afraid Diyo may change his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin winks at Jongdae over his shoulder.  “It’s pleasant to simply be able to declare we’re amenable to courting each other, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae laughs.  “It does seem to save a great deal of suffering.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The domain of the Winter Court, unsurprisingly, is covered in a blanket of snow despite the season.  It’s also covered in a blanket of angry black clouds, from which a blizzard is raging.  They pause at the edge for Baekhyun to liberate some thick velvet clothing and a heavy fur cloak made from some shaggy animal Jongdae’s entirely unfamiliar with.  But it looks regal and is nice and warm, and Jongdae hums in approval when he shrugs it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And don’t forget this,” Baekhyun says just as Jongdae turns back toward Graupel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s holding out a golden circlet, slender but intricate, similar in design to the silver one Xiumin wears if entirely different in aesthetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Jongdae says, feeling again like someone playacting rather than anyone who truly deserves to wear such a crown.  But he lets Baekhyun put it on his head anyway, weaving his still-vital crown of roses around and through it so they seem to be part of one cohesive whole when Baekhyun holds up a reflecting crystal for Jongdae’s inspection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jongdae frowns at the blooms the Spring Regents had plaited into his hair days or weeks ago when he had newly arrived.  That hair is now the green of wariness, as are his eyes and presumably the petals over his shoulders beneath the thick furs, but— “Are the edges of the roses turning… green?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun gives him a quizzical look.  “Well, of course they are—Queen Jewelbright’s grafting abilities are unsurpassed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grafting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course—did you really think the Spring Regents would have wasted their efforts on a temporary crown?  They hate the storms more than anyone, so it was to their own benefit if the claimant to the Summer Crown better matched the memory of his beloved mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s frown deepens, and his fingers scramble to feel for the stems of the blooms where they disappear beneath the strands of his hair, green hue deepening with his distress.  “So… they grafted roses to my scalp?  Exposed my emotions in the color of my eyes, my hair—the petals on my shoulders are their doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun shakes his head, catching Jongdae’s now-chilled fingers with hands that always seem the same moderate temperature, now warmer than his own.  “Not at all, my liege.  Queen Jewelbright only encouraged a graft to form, she did not enable it.  A mortal gardener cannot graft a rose to a forsythia bush, only to a closely-related host, and neither may the Spring Queen—at least, not with such a simple action as idly weaving stems together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets his hands on Jongdae’s shoulders.  “You are blooming because you were born to do so, Prince Chen Stormbreaker, offshoot of the Wild Rose.  You are of royal rootstock, and shift as royals do—you may blame Summer’s lost princess for the betrayal of your thoughts, but not the Spring Regents.  Your petals are entirely your own, whether self-grown from the skin of your shoulders or grafted as these stems to your scalp.  You may prune them away if they truly distress you, but they were meant as a show of faith, compensation in advance for the future salvation of our realm and therefore their domain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… see,” Jongdae says, curious over his own panic at the thought of his floral traits as being externally arisen.  He has always been proud of being his mother’s child, even when he’d only thought of her as some beautiful phantom he’d never know at all.  It’s inconvenient that his heart is now very much on his sleeve as well as in his hair, but he’s evidently just as proud of that as he is of the shape of his mouth, or any other trait he can trace to maternal origins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He may question his own worthiness for the task that is his birthright, but he does not question who he truly is.  He’s always been Jongdae, beloved child of the woman who’d given him birth and the man who’d raised him with such love in her absence.  And he still is, only now with more appreciation for both his parents and the efforts they had gone to for him.  He will not fail them, and he will wear his petals with pride as he triumphs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look rightfully regal, my risen rose,” Xiumin comments as he pulls Jongdae back up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae thanks him with an extra squeeze as he wraps his arms in place around Xiumin’s middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride across Winter’s domain is decidedly less pleasant, but the fur at his back and Xiumin’s back against his front both do a lot to keep Jongdae reasonably warm.  It seems like it would be a truly beautiful domain, all shimmering and crystalline and pristine, if it weren’t for the constantly howling wind driving stinging pellets of snow against Jongdae’s cheeks, obscuring visibility to an alarming degree.  So he closes his eyes and rounds his back to press his face between Xiumin’s shoulders, hoping that Graupel really does know his way home in all circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve arrived, my poor wilted rose,” Xiumin hums eventually, patting the arms around his middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae loosens them, looking up to see a stunning palace of ice, all lofty spires and translucent planes.  Or at least, Jongdae presumes they’d be translucent, if there were more than the barest hint of sunlight shouldering past the wind and snow.  As it is, the looming walls look ominous rather than awe-inspiring, like the ice over some dark, frigid pond that, at any moment, may sliver and crack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the palace, there’s a much livelier aura, one they’re quickly ushered into due to the easily-recognizable forms of the Crown Prince’s destrier and his equiform guard, even if the riders of such weren’t discernible until after they’d trotted through the outer gates of the palace and directly into a great hall.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, my sturdy friend,” Xiumin says to the destrier once they’ve dismounted, cradling its face in his hands and nuzzling the beast’s frosty nose.  “I’ll check later to make sure they’ve groomed you properly and given you extra sugarbeets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae can’t help but smile at this powerful fae prince and his glowing-eyed, hoary steed, both with half-closed lids as they make little noises at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marrying this man only gets more and more appealing, even if the idea of facing more trials does not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Winter Court awaits,” a pale purple chrysanthemum-covered guard prompts, and Xiumin sighs, resting his forehead against Graupel’s forelock for one more breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae manages not to glare at the guard for interrupting the precious moment.  Instead, he takes all his courage and dignity in one hand and Xiumin’s hand in the other, and walks into the throne room beside his betrothed with his head up and his strides measured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much as in the solarium of the Summer Court, the Winter King and Queen are shimmering regally on their icy thrones atop a dais, flanked by their children on smaller, less ornate seats.  The king, a man arrayed in ice-blue hellebores, is straight-out glaring at Jongdae, but the queen, of larger stature than her husband and draped in bunches of lavender, is regarding him with a much more pleasant, dimpled expression.  To the king’s right is a woman with icy-pink amaryllis draped over her figure like a fine, fashionable gown, watching with the cautious curiosity Jongdae had initially encountered at the Summer Court. On the queen’s left sits a tall man, lean and broad-shouldered, slouching in his throne and gazing at them with bored, scornful eyes from beneath blooms of iberis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“King Glacierguard and Queen Meadowbalm, Princess Crystalbeam, Prince Shivergale: presenting Crown Prince Silverfrost and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun doesn’t even wait this time for the guard’s attempt.  “His betrothed, offered for and accepted, Crown Prince Chen Stormbreaker of the Summer Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again he bows more to Jongdae than anyone else, then he steps back around to stand at attention at Diyo’s side behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queen inclines her head, but the king scowls down the dais at Jongdae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So this is the invasive weed who thinks himself worthy of the Crown Prince of the Winter Court?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's an honor to meet you, too, King Glacierguard."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king leans back in outrage.  "You dare address us directly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am also royalty here, and a Crown Prince in my own right, twice over."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An accident of birth does not a fitting regent make.  You may have passed the trials of the Summer Court, but Winter is a harsher judge."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae feels a tendril twine around the wrist closest to Xiumin.  The touch makes it easier to simply shrug at the Winter King’s words.  "I make no claim here.  I am not your subject.  I have nothing to prove to this court."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The winter wind gusts violently outside the palace, keening in displeasure as the king's face darkens.  "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>claim</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a fit match for the Crown Prince of the Winter Court.  You are therefore </span>
  <em>
    <span>subject</span>
  </em>
  <span> to whatever courtship trials this Court demands, in order to </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove</span>
  </em>
  <span> your worthiness as co-regent."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae presses his lips together but manages not to roll his eyes.  These fae and their trials!  Xiumin had warned him, of course, but Jongdae had carried a tiny hope that his betrothed was exaggerating his parents’ probable reaction.  Still, Jongdae had triumphed before, and he will again, if he must.  Xiumin has already chosen him, and has assured him that choice will stand regardless of the outcome of any trials, but he will endeavor to gain his parents’ approval anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Very well.  What terms are demanded?"  As no one in this court is likely to smuggle him a convenient pair of shears, Jongdae must at least attempt to attain favorable conditions for himself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Three trials: one from King, Queen, and royal siblings, as is traditional.  You must succeed via your own capabilities, without aid or advice from anyone of this court or the one who reclaimed you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Agreed," Jongdae says easily.  As he’d learned during his day of wrestling and bell-ringing, it’s more than difficult to outsmart a fae, but it’s far easier than overpowering one.  "My terms are that all trials must be conquerable by a mere human who must remain in one shape, without fae abilities."  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>fae abilities," Prince Shivergale points out.  “News of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploit</span>
  </em>
  <span> has preceded you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing I can truly control, not as a full-blooded fae, and isn't that part of your disapproval?  You find me a poor excuse for a fae prince, so I will not use them.  If I am little better than a mortal in your eyes, then as a mortal I shall demonstrate my quality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king trades long glances with his wife and children before nodding once, sharply.  "So be it.  My queen, you shall set the first trial."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The carpet, if you please," the queen addresses the guards.  "It is the truest mother's test."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king frowns, but the guards bow and scurry out.  Moments later, they bring in a carpet, pale and thick like new-fallen snow.  It's massive, taking up most of the throne room, leaving the assembled to crowd along the icy white walls.  The guards roll it out, and when it's halfway unfurled, Xiumin steps onto it, letting it be unrolled after him so he's standing in the very center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You must lift our son from his feet without setting one of your own on the carpet," the king instructs.  "It's enchanted so that any print will remain in the surface, proving your failure.  You may not place your hands or knees upon it, either, nor may you roll it up to reach the center.  You may not—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king drones on, listing off every possible way to reach the center of the carpet as forbidden, unless Jongdae were to climb the wall and lower himself on spider's silk or fly across it on the wings of a butterfly.  For a moment, his brow furrows with frustration.  He's meant to be able to succeed as a mortal.  Surely they would not break the agreement in full view of the court.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fights not to forsake his dignity by chewing his lip.  This can’t be conquered by physical prowess, the restrictions make that impossible.  His first trial for the Summer Court had seemed physically impossible, too, but as the victims of prior betrayal by Jongdae’s own blood, the matter of trust had been far more important to examine than any other skill or feat a claimant to their court may have offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queen had called this a mother's test.  What matter might a parent prioritize?  When they performed the seasonal rituals together, Jongdae’s father always petitioned the old ones for Jongdae’s health and happiness.  Fae parents don’t seem so different thus far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortal?"</span>
  </em>
  <span> the king sneers when his list of prohibitions has finally ceased.  "What extraordinary feats will you perform to win the hand of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>proper</span>
  </em>
  <span> fae prince?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae only smiles, for he has no need to win what’s already been freely offered.  Sure, Prince Tao had all but shoved Jongdae at Winter’s Crown Prince as a matter of politics, but Xiumin had expressed interest prior to that.  Jongdae doubts his betrothed was influenced by anything other than attraction, but his parents can’t know that.  To them, their perfect son returned from another Court, betrothed to the tangle in that court’s line of succession.  Now that he’s surrounded by supportive family, his mother would see if he’d make the same choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet Xiumin,” Jongdae calls.  “I told you once that I found you the most beautiful flower in all of Faerie, and that’s still true.  But the more I come to know you, the more I find to appreciate.  It’s still difficult for a mere half-breed to accept that an ethereal fae prince has asked for his hand, so I understand if the offer was spurred by passing infatuation instead of growing admiration or affection.  I would not hold you captive for a lifetime based on words uttered in the heat of a moment, so this time around, I will ask for you.  If you truly wish to wed me, come to me.  If not—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae has no breath to finish his little speech, instead catching Xiumin with a rather unprincely grunt when his betrothed all but leaps into his arms.  Jongdae’s never seen anyone cross that amount of rug more quickly, and he can’t hide his smile as he spins his </span>
  <em>
    <span>proper</span>
  </em>
  <span> fae prince around, setting him on his feet only to be lifted off his own in turn.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mere half-breed,” Xiumin scoffs, clusters of white winter daphne radiating from his head and shoulders.  “My exotic hybrid, I would not have you otherwise.”  The curve of his eyes echo his words and the flower’s sentiment.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae rubs his free hand over the back of his own head, still blatantly flower-free.  He’s sure his hair is some embarrassingly-sentimental color to go with the heat blooming on his cheeks, but if Xiumin’s willing to declare his intentions in front of his own Court, Jongdae can’t bring himself to mind any of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the winter wind picks up, wrenching all warmth from the room.  "You have broken the provisions," the king declares, smile sharp.  “You agreed to receive no aid from any member of this Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I received no aid,” Jongdae asserts, chin lifted, Xiumin’s hand still clasped in his.  “No one informed me how to succeed.  I reasoned it out on my own, and my own earnest words elicited my success.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your words, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never said he may not act,” Jongdae says.  “He might have jumped into my arms the moment the trial began, taken a few steps or even simply shifted his weight toward me, if he meant to give me aid.  Yet he remained still until I offered him a choice.  You may treat him as a trophy in this, but that does not render him a mere object.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is my trial, and I declare it conquered," the queen calls before the king's rage can avalanche from his twisted snarl.  "Winter blesses the world with beauty and peace, and thus the Winter Queen blesses your union.  May your love accumulate and become as solid and durable as a glacier, as clear and pure as ice over a placid pond, and as soft and enveloping as hoarfrost."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you, revered Mother," Xiumin calls, bowing deep and elegant, Jongdae’s fingers still locked in his.  Jongdae echoes the thanks and the maneuver even as he's aware of a pair of narrowed eyes glaring icy daggers from beside their mother's throne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The second trial will be announced tomorrow," the king declares when the noise of the crowd has died down.  "My queen is Spring-born, powder-soft and easily thawed, but you will find Winter’s King to be far more difficult to crack.  My son may fancy you, but that is not why kings wed.  A Crown Prince needs more than ardor or sentiment in a marriage, for the sake of his Court and its denizens."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chill in King Glacierguard’s icy blue glare is nearly palpable as he directs it at Jongdae.  “I bear you no malice, Stormbreaker, and I wish you swift success bringing the mortal realm to heel.  But if the Summer Court that claimed you so readily was still eager to see you wed and out of their line of succession, why should I be any less reluctant to add you to mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question seems to be rhetorical, but Jongdae answers it nonetheless.  “Our union forces no changes in the succession of the Winter Court.  Prince Xiumin will be Winter’s primary leader, as will his offshoots after him.  I will agree that I’ve none of your son’s refinement, no rapport with this court, no schooling in matters of state or diplomacy.  But that does not mean I have nothing to offer him or the Winter Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That remains to be seen.”  The king stands up to better scowl down at his son.  "I test your chosen not out of cruelty, but out of duty.  You may have forgotten yours beneath warm Summer skies, but Winter has no mercy, and neither do I."</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>King Glacierguard proves himself not to be a man of false claims the following morning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae hadn’t slept well, shivering between Baekhyun and Diyo, who generated much less warmth than even a single human bedpartner might have.  Neither of them were exactly thrilled to be sharing a bed with him—though they may have enjoyed sharing with each other, if Baekhyun’s irritable rambling was more than mere banter.  Baekhyun had done his best with warm tea and tendril-enhanced body contact, but Jongdae’s body insisted that it was not the season for such unnatural cold and would not be dissuaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Therefore, none of the three of them managed to sleep anywhere near sufficiently, and Xiumin, as his husband-to-be, was more than a little sulky at being left out of the Jongdae-warming contingent.  Jongdae may have felt like less of an inconvenience if he’d spent the night pressed up against someone who unabashedly desired him there, but when he’d suggested it, Diyo had said that the Winter Court had very rigid ideas of acceptable pre-marriage behavior for royals, and “entwining” with one’s betrothed was most certainly not included.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, and his own impromptu comment about Xiumin’s heirs, led Jongdae’s mind again in the direction of probable post-marriage activities, which is not precisely the sort of thoughts one may wish to have when lying between a possible couple one is perhaps preventing from enjoying such activities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The result is four irritable people pretending they are in fact honored to be in the presence of the Winter King and are open and amenable to whatever trial he may propose.  The facade may have had a better chance of succeeding if the Risen Rose’s petals hadn’t been limp and white and the Crown Prince hadn’t been wearing the puffy viburnum clusters of ennui.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A good king must look out for the welfare of his people,” King Glacierguard announces, shoulders sprouting with persistent glacier-blue euphorbia as he leads the four of them down a series of hallways.  “If there is anything I can do to aid you in your quest of curbing the use of that foul human metal, do not hesitate to ask.  In that, our goals are united.  But even should iron’s taint begin to fade from our skies, the Winter Court shall be left with iron’s curse for far longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin stops abruptly, almost causing his drowsy guard to faceplant against his back.  “Father, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king keeps walking without pause.  “This is my greatest concern as Winter’s King.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t ask this of him!” Xiumin storms to catch up with his father, going so far as to reach for the regent’s arm.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>King Glacierguard turns on his son, ice plants stabbing up in the euphorbia’s place.  “This is why I married your mother, Xiumin.  Not for desire, but for </span>
  <em>
    <span>need.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Her knowledge and skills as a healer have done much for our people.  What will </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> queen be able to do during your reign?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You agreed Chen’s trials would be conquerable!  There is no cure for the curse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, there isn’t, but the divinations agree that one exists,” the king states, opening a door to exhaust a sickly, metallic odor.  “Your betrothed shall find it, or give up this ridiculous—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neem oil,” Jongdae says as soon as he steps into the room.  “Or perhaps they could soak in a tincture of the leaves.  But the oil would be best, I should think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several dozen fae are limply draped over beds, chairs, and even the floor.  Most are wrapped in strips of cloth instead of leaves or petals, likely because they have too few leaves or petals to cover themselves otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many of Jongdae’s questions about fae physiology are abruptly answered.  They do indeed have skin beneath their leaves, of the same shade and texture as that on their faces and hands.  Jongdae had noted that the Winter Court, while still demonstrating a wide range of skin tones, had on average been paler than their Summer counterparts.  But the fae in front of him are the kind of wan that must surely indicate ill health.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If that hadn’t signaled it, the labored breathing and wet, hacking coughs certainly would.  And on the first bare-skinned fae that Jongdae has ever seen, the reason why is dreadfully clear: sticky black fungus coats the underside of the leaves that would normally be wrapping his torso, currently spread wide to allow them to be meticulously coated in a greenish, metallic-scented solution by an attentive nurse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Treating with copper?” Jongdae indicates the dripping sponge in her hand.  “That’s surely better than nothing, but you’re unlikely to be able to formulate a solution strong enough to harm this much fungus without also harming your patients.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I?” he asks the patient being treated, who nods even as he looks at Jongdae as if he might be the strangest thing he’s ever seen.  Jongdae supposes that’s entirely fair, and ignores the scrutiny of himself as he takes a closer look at the man’s leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winter is meant to be a dry season, but the constant storms are making your domain too wet, aren’t they?  Giving this fungus a chance to go from nuisance to nemesis for those otherwise weakened—this particular case took hold after what should have been a minor injury to the patient’s trunk, here?”  Jongdae hovers a finger over a thick patch of fungus clinging to the patient’s skin directly instead of being harbored on the more-porous underside of the man’s leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet keeping the leaves spread to aid dryness also renders already-compromised patients vulnerable to freezing beneath these overharsh skies.  And everywhere else in Faerie that may be a warmer place to recover is certainly much more humid, and therefore no better than keeping patients close to home.  But this fungus does not plague the other Courts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fungus is an occasional inconvenience in the warmer Courts, but their denizens are naturally more resistant.  As you say, Winter’s blooms are meant to thrive in cool, dry conditions.  We were never subject to such fungus before, as our environment rendered it harmless.  Yet now any wound, if not treated immediately and aggressively, may give rise to iron’s curse.  This man shepherds the ruddy winter deer which give us milk and cream.  By the time he’d journeyed from herds to healer, it was already too late to do more than delay the inevitable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hacking cough underscores the nurse’s words, and Jongdae grimaces in sympathy.  Plants in the mortal realm don’t have warm, moist lungs to harbor fungal infections, but evidently the fae do.  He turns back to the quartet of dumbstruck fae hovering by the door to the room, all traces of irritation erased by various expressions of shock, flowers reflexively reduced to mere buds.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a tree called neem?  Perhaps you call it something else.  I can draw it for you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse offers up the scroll and quill she’s been taking notes on, and Jongdae smiles his thanks as he unrolls it to a clear spot.  He quickly sketches the tropical tree that’s immune to fungus and insects, an immunity that can be leached from leaves and squeezed from seeds to confer on others, human or flora.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This.  Do you have a tree like this?  With these leaves, these fruits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in any of the other Courts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Healers must train in all Courts, so we may aid visitors and transplants to wherever we may be stationed,” she says.  “There is no tree like this in all of Faerie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we have them in the mortal realm, in warm climates, often near waterways.  Send someone to find it.  It grows better in warm, wet places, but it’ll grow anywhere it can get at least a bit of water—I’m sure you have plenty of places you could farm it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs at his own words.  “What am I saying?  You can likely make it go from seed to mature tree in the blink of an eye.  Which is just as well, because you’ll need lots of seeds, at least to begin with.  You’ll crush the oil out of the seeds, perhaps dilute it with some gentler oil to start—I’ve wiped it full-strength over affected leaves and stems to kill persistent fungus in plants, but it’s toxic to humans in large enough amounts.  I’ve no guess as to how it may affect fae, so be cautious, but I’m sure you’re trained to find the weakest effective treatment, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse nods, already sending a tendril snaking through the feet frozen in the doorway, Jongdae’s drawing clasped in her hands.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent.  The leaves can be steeped, too, and that steam may aid the lungs, but use the oil topically if you can tolerate it.  That will keep the treated surfaces from being as water-wet all the time, that’s what the fungus prefers.  An advanced case like this one will take dedication to fully cure, but I believe it to be possible.  In future, he and other distant groups can keep their own pot of neem oil, to wipe over wounds to keep the fungus from gaining purchase in the first place.  And—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s ramble is interrupted by what’s quickly becoming his favorite sound: Xiumin’s delighted laughter.   </span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>“You’re exceptional,” Xiumin murmurs that evening at dinner, hand-feeding Jongdae another fruit and cream pirouette, some perilla-like leaf standing in for the pastry.  “My exotic hybrid.  So clever—no fae would ever have cured iron’s curse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only a gardener,” Jongdae mumbles around his mouthful.  “Your father asked me about floral husbandry—er, fae medicine?  And we still don’t know if it’s a cure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the most promising lead we’ve had in years,” Xiumin insists.  “And moreover, you proved to my father that your instinct is to help, that you actually care for our Court as a whole, that you’re respectful to even the lowliest individuals.  He’s furious, because he’s still sure that you don’t know an edict from a decree, and he’s right.  But I know the difference, and so do my siblings.  They’ll be our stewards, to help govern when we’re in Exordium.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae gapes, but he raises a finger to block the next pirouette Xiumin tries to slip between his lips.  “You’d come with me to the mortal realm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I would.  We’ll figure out how long it’s comfortable for me to stay, and try to alternate evenly.  Or we might have to spend some time apart, if Exordium needs a lot of royal attention at first.  And I likely won’t be able to cross between the realms when I’m germinating, but I doubt that will take anywhere near as long as it did for your mother, and I’d be in Faerie the whole time so there’d be nothing to worry about even if the term is overlong. And—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really going to get pregnant?  B-by me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin gives him an incredulous look.  “You’re certainly not going to produce a pistil, are you?  And who else would I propagate with, if not my own husband?  I could self-pollinate, of course, but I’d rather give you blood heirs if I can, so none will doubt their legitimacy.  But I won’t really be pregnant, not the same way humans are.  You likely won’t even notice anything different after the initial pollination.  You humans are so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>messier</span>
  </em>
  <span> about everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… have so many more questions about all of this,” Jongdae mumbles, unsurprised at the pink strands of hair falling into his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have plenty of time for answers,” Xiumin chuckles, tucking the stray hair back into place beneath his rosy circlet.  “One more trial, then I’ll be able to give you a thorough education on husbandry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidently, a vivid blue is the hue his petals use to signal “complete mind obliteration.”  Jongdae didn’t think it possible for roses to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> blue, but perhaps that’s exactly why.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>In the throne room the next morning, Jongdae stifles a yawn after another night of fitful sleep.  Yet he maintains a neutral expression, drawing strength from Xiumin’s tendrils slipping around his waist to pull him closer to his betrothed’s side.  Princess Crystalbeam keeps her eyes averted, pale pink raspberry blossoms signalling a remorse that tints Jongdae’s petals with uneasy green, and Prince Shivergale’s scowl is unsoftened by the cloud of paperwhites curving over his neck and shoulders.  For long moments he only stares down at them, tapping his elegant fingertips on the arm of his glittering throne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The King of Winter must have the fiercest of Queens,” he declares suddenly.  “Therefore, we decree that your final test will be bringing back the head of a sidhe-cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin sucks in a breath, but Jongdae only lifts a brow.  “You truly believe me capable of conquering this task?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prince shrugs.  “Other mere humans have managed, remaining in one shape, without fae powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Human </span>
  <em>
    <span>warriors,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Xiumin protests.  “You’d be sending him to his death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He only stipulated it must be possible for </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> mortal man, not that it be possible for him, specifically.  The task stands.  Bring the head of a sidhe-cat to this throne room by sundown tomorrow, or don’t bother to return at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he won’t return!” Xiumin yells.  “He’ll be inside a sidhe-cat, if he even manages to find one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s possible, I’ll find a way to do it,” Jongdae says, taking hold of Xiumin’s shoulders.  “After this, I’m meant to conquer an entire kingdom—I may as well warm up by conquering one massive, vicious cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae doesn’t relish the task—he’s always rather liked cats.  They keep rodents away from his seed stores on top of being rather cute.  But this cat isn’t the helpful kind, and from King Dragonheart’s description, he doubts it will be at all cute.  Perhaps he can poison it or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chenny,” Xiumin starts, white bellflowers dripping like tears around his stricken face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—no more, my dear betrothed.  I refuse to conquer this task only for them to claim you aided me.  I will go, and I will do my best.  If I can’t succeed, I will still return.  I have two realms to save, Min.  I don’t have time to die over this, so I will return to you either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin doesn’t look comforted.  His face contorts with fury as he whirls on his brother, death-pale wild petunias bursting forth with his anger and resentment.  “If he does not return, Vivihun Shivergale, I will make sure that everyone knows why.  That you killed our future for—why even are you doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Shivergale’s jaw tightens, and he seems unable to look at either of them.  “We have no desire to do your job while you gallivant around the mortal world.  If you marry someone else, you’ll stay here all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the finite length of time Faerie has left!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Princess Crystalbeam cringes, but Prince Shivergale only shrugs, toying with a paperwhite blossom on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin opens his mouth again, but Jongdae silences him with one hand curving against a petal-soft cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wild petunias are apt—anger, but never despair.  I will return to you,” he promises again.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he turns on a booted heel and strides from the Winter Palace, hardened by the ice in Xiumin's eyes.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The denizens of the Winter Court may not be permitted to aid Jongdae, but they sure don’t seem particularly inclined to hinder him.  Or do anything but smile when he attempts to aid himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best plan at the moment is still to poison the beast, but he’ll still need some way to relieve it of its head.  He doubts one of the flower-bud swords carried by guards will do anything at all useful in his hands, and if they did, it would likely be counted as fae ability and therefore invalidate the trial.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s no rule against fae cutlery, so Jongdae heads across the courtyard to the kitchens.  They don’t seem to eat more than fruit, leaves, cream, and flowers, but they must slice the fruit somehow.  To his delight, after a brief pause when he enters, the kitchen staff continue their activities as if Jongdae weren’t there at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they’re rather careless about leaving a watermelon cleaver lying around where anyone might come across it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And a basket piled to the brim with some sort of leaf-wrapped dumplings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even a stoppered flagon of icewine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three of them, actually, looped together with silken cord so Jongdae can’t easily pilfer only one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which makes much more sense when he steps back out into the courtyard to find two tall fae waiting for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both bow deeply.  “Prince Stormbreaker,” the slightly taller one says.  His scalp is covered with red-veined fraxinella blooms that occasionally burst into flame for a few heartbeats before returning to their unblemished state.  “I’m known as Gloryburn.  It’s a high honor indeed to meet the bridge between courts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me Flickerfox,” the other says, dusty blue viscaria seeming to dance about his head.  “We happen to hold special favor for bridges of all kinds in the Autumn Court.  You understand—transitions, liminal spaces, that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae feels his eyes go wide as his petals brighten from wary green to the yellow of new-blossomed hope.  “The Autumn Court?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  We’re hunters, delivering more furs to the palace.  Evidently there’s a new resident that’s unused to the chill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Potential </span>
  </em>
  <span>new resident.  He seems to be in a bit of a predicament at the moment, though.  Mayhaps he could use some assistance—but not from anyone in the Winter Court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or the Summer one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which makes it rather convenient that we belong to neither, doesn’t it, Gloryburn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  Did I mention we’re hunters?  With a specialty in furs.  So we know where a lot of hairy beasts hole up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how to dispatch them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae lets himself grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> small problem, though,” Gloryburn says, large tourmaline eyes suddenly sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s grin disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fae from different Courts don’t aid each other unsolicited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s simply not done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There must always be request and reciprocation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tit for tat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For example, we were asked to bring these furs now, and in return, the Crown Prince’s handsome destrier will cover my brother’s mares come Summer’s End.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, the Stormbreaker will be performing a great service for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> the courts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So naturally, the compensation needn’t be at all steep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it still needs to be offered… and possibly… consumed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s smile returns along with the welcoming yellow of his petals.  He holds up his kitchen spoils.  “I don’t suppose you gracious and skillful hunters happen to appreciate a lovely picnic lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a matched set of grins in response.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The border forest between Winter’s domain and that of the Autumn Court is gnarled and spooky, like any good fae forest should be, Jongdae supposes.  It’s more eerie in his eyes because the trees are bare, twisted branches reaching for the sky like skeletal limbs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still keep the worst of the snow and the wind away, allowing Jongdae to lower his hood and look around after they’re a few dozen steps past the treeline.  The ballads have taught him all the little tricks: don’t step off the path, don’t turn to look behind himself, simply march through with the confidence of someone who will absolutely arrive at their intended destination.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it’s immensely reassuring to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> a destination.  And two amicable, rather chatty guides to ensure he gets there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you suppose that our own Hawthorn squad will manage to take the victory in this year’s tourney of the bell, or will it be Summer’s Alder squad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that depends on if Wolfwhisper is taking the season off for sprouting or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought Wolfwhisper germinated last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that was Windwhistle.  I know they shared a root, but they don’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light conversation does a lot to dispel the eerieness from the noises echoing around them, birds cawing or hooting or the shrieking of who knows what else may dwell here.  The frosted underbrush crackles alarmingly now and then, low growling and the occasional glowing red or amber eyes providing plenty of incentive to press on without delay.  Yet Flickerfox and Gloryburn keep up the easy chatter, listening politely when Jongdae adds a rare comment but never pressuring him for a contribution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right cruel of Prince Snivelwail to ask for something that might end a mortal in the getting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae, walking behind Gloryburn and in front of Flickerfox, misses a step at the comment from behind him.  “Do denizens of other Courts often bear so little respect for regents not their own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve plenty of respect for lots of regents,” Flickerfox says.  “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> little brat isn’t one I’ve any need to pay homage to outside the throne room, nor is he anyone I’m particularly glad to know, unlike your royal self, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae laughs.  “We’ve only just met,” he protests.  “You can hardly claim to know me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve passed the morning together, and you’ve yet to complain about anything, despite being unapologetically sent to your possible death,” Gloryburn says from in front of him.  “We need no further proof to declare your temperament superior.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winter’s Crown Prince is grand, though a bit flashy for my tastes.  And the Queen and the Princess seem a right sort.  The King always works hard to do what’s best for their people, if perhaps a bit more brusquely than we’re used to in our own Court.  But the younger Prince… well.  He’s as spoilt as groundfallen honeyapples left overlong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could have simply told us he’d rather not be asked to lead the Winter Court in our absence,” Jongdae says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nay, he gets no such choice.  None of the royals do.  The sovereign geas has them on the hook unless they can find some way to wriggle off.  Right decent of the Crown Prince to bring you to his Court rather than trying to become Queen of yours.  Most royals do whatever they can to minimize their own responsibility for the Court, so it’s predictable that the younger Prince would oppose you marrying his brother if it means having to oversee Winter’s domain in your absence.  But he could have chosen some other trial that you’d fail harmlessly, instead of actually trying to get you killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Especially since you haven’t even managed to break the storm yet,” Flickerfox adds.  “I bet he simply isn’t bright enough to think of anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Crown Prince will likely never forgive him, whether you return or not.  Which might end up working in the lout’s favor, anyway, if he ends up married off to another Court simply to keep his brother from actually killing him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk for some time, and Jongdae marvels at how it’s like turning the seasons backwards, watching winter slowly dissolve into autumn as the skeletal trees begin to have more and more red-orange leaves with the occasional gold of a solitary oak.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, now, see, there’s a bit of sidhe-cat spoor,” Gloryburn comments, just as casually as he’d discussed his sister’s recipe for profiteroles and certainly less excitedly than he’d listed the finer points of lyrecraft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>bit?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Jongdae narrows his eyes up at Gloryburn, then casts them back over the pile of excreta that would surely be taller than he is if he were to leave the path to go stand beside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s understandably larger this time of year,” Flickerfox explains.  “When the kits are this young, the mothers don’t leave the den so often.  It’s like to… build up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae stops.  He does not spin around to stare at Flickerfox in case that counts as looking behind himself, but it’s a near thing.  “Wait. Kits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah,” Gloryburn says.  “This is the height of their kittening season.  Wee mites are like to barely have their eyes open by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why it was exceedingly cruel for Prince Snivelwail to send you off to kill one.  Her babes won’t survive without her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not killing a mother with babies,” Jongdae states flatly.  “I don’t care how big and mean the beasts are as adults, no infant deserves to lose their mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I suppose you could merely kill a single kit instead, if you could manage to separate one from the mother,” Flickerfox suggests.  “Snivelwail didn’t specify that it had to be the head of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>adult</span>
  </em>
  <span> sidhe-cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are the kits very large?” Jongdae asks.  He wouldn’t like to kill a baby, but if he could tell himself it was still dangerous—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, tiny mites, they are.  Not even the length of your arm from nose to tippy-tail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That certainly makes killing one an easy, if reprehensible, task.  And yet—  “Prince Shivergale also never said I had to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> a sidhe cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Bring the head of a sidhe-cat to this throne room by sundown tomorrow,’” Gloryburn recites, doing a more than passable job of mimicking the Prince’s disdainful tone.  “Those were his words.  We were standing right there, weren’t we, Foxie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We surely were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Jongdae says, “if that head is very small… and still attached to the body… and that body is still alive...:”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s in the throne room by sundown, still counts,” Flickerfox says, grinning down at him.  “But be sure to snatch yourself a female kit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’d not have old Prince Snivelwail accusing you of bringing back the head of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>he-</span>
  </em>
  <span>cat, now, would we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jongdae agrees.  “No, we would not.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Separating a sidhe-cat kitten from its mother does not turn out to be a quick task, nor a particularly easy one, though it seems fairly simple on the surface.  The hunters assure him that the pile of spoor is nearing a sennight old, and Jongdae decides he can live the rest of his life quite happily without asking exactly how the pair of them can possibly determine that.  He simply chooses to believe them when after a bit of searching, they point out the creature’s den and insist the mother will emerge sometime that day for nature’s call and a quick bite to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When that happens, they’ll wait for her to be out of easy earshot, then Jongdae will dart into the den and grab a female kit.  The den will be dark, so they spend an awkward quarter-hour discussing exactly how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the difference between male and female sidhe-cat anatomy.  Evidently, the distinction is slight at this age, and the general conclusion is that the presence of testes certainly indicates a male, but the apparent absence thereof does not necessarily indicate a female.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s certainly better odds than if you grab one </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> chestnuts,” Gloryburn concludes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That does seem like the case,” Jongdae agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours or perhaps a quarter-century later, the mother cat emerges.  And suddenly, the sturdy oak in which the trio of fae are perched doesn’t seem nearly so sturdy and certainly nowhere near tall enough to keep them truly safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But perhaps Prince Tao is right—the sidhe-cat sniffs around, but she doesn’t look up.  She slinks off, blotchy coat blending in effortlessly with the mottled Autumn forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go, Your Highness,” Gloryburn urges, and Jongdae shimmies down the tree, darts through the underbrush as quietly as he possibly can (which is to say, not very quietly at all), and dives into the den.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure how many kits are within the earthen cave, but they all start screaming their objections as soon as they realize he’s not their mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Jongdae urges.  “I only mean to make off with one of you!  Not get eaten by your mother for touching what’s hers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last few notes come out in a nervous sing-song, but the kits do actually quiet slightly before resuming their chorus of objections to his presence.  Desperately, Jongdae sings again, the first song that pops into his head as he searches for the kittens in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where could you be,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Where could you be?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I wish to closely embrace your tired heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The season when snow piles up,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>If it returns again,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>That day that was so weary,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It makes me cry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dewdrop laden in your two lovely eyes,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I will place it in the cloud fragment I picked yesterday,</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
    <span></span><br/>
<em>
    <span>If it becomes time for your heart to dry up,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>I will squeeze it and water it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he sings, he gropes about himself, getting bitten several times for his trouble by needle-sharp teeth that certainly feel large in the dark.  He manages to find a tail, following it with his hands to where it connects with the body, singing the whole time.  That kitten is most certainly a male, so he reaches out again and snags a paw.  The owner tries to pull away, but Jongdae manages to wrestle the creature into his lap and give its nethers a thorough patdown, surging to his feet with it awkwardly clutched to his middle when his search for testes comes up empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please be a girl,” he begs the kitten as he bolts from the den, but it’s quickly apparent that female or not, this is the kitten he’s getting.  Gloryburn and Flickerfox are making the agreed-upon hurry-up birdsongs, and Jongdae tries, rather inelegantly, to sing to the kitten and run to the base of their oak, but also attempt to both move silently and not sing overloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the grace of a sidhe-cat himself, Flickerfox drops from the tree, grabs the kitten, and disappears with it up into the branches before the little thing can so much as squeak.  This leaves Jongdae to scramble up, feet slipping against the bark of the trunk in haste and panic until Gloryburn catches his forearm with a tendril and hoists him up enough to get branches beneath his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those tendrils of yours,” Jongdae pants.  “They seem incredibly useful appendages.  Really versatile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunters look at each other and smile, then grin back at Jongdae, Flickerfox dandling the kitten on his hip.  It’s a fuzzy bundle of big blue eyes and speckled tawny fur, and Jongdae is more than glad that Prince Shivergale was unspecific with his words.  If Jongdae was sent to perform a trial that </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> mortal might conquer, then he’s going to bring back </span>
  <em>
    <span>a</span>
  </em>
  <span> sidhe-cat head—and he’s certainly not going to relinquish it to the younger Prince of Winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, now that you’ve got this little girl—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank the skies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—You’ll soon be a wedded man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then you’ll likely find out just how versatile a fae’s tendrils can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s blue petals appear in time with an angry sidhe-cat scream, meaning Gloryburn and Flickerfox have to smother their resultant guffaws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The continuing chuckle-fit does make evading the irate mother more of a challenge, but Flickerfox turns out to be aptly called.  His ability to be first in one place, then another, allows him to bait the sidhe-cat away from their tree, distracting her long enough for Gloryburn and Jongdae to clamber down and away with their softly-mewling captive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’ll you do with the wee thing once you’ve made old Snivelwail eat his words?” Gloryburn asks, handing Jongdae a fragment of antler to offer the infant’s busy mouth instead of his forearm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Crown Prince’s destrier is the most fearsome mount I’ve ever seen, and he coddles it like a favored pony,” Jongdae says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He raised it from a foal after an unseasonable blizzard left it motherless,” Gloryburn says, chucking the kitten’s chin as it grumbles around the antler.  “He breathed the strength of Winter into the wobbly little thing, and now look at him!  Which is why my brother will be best pleased to have old Graupel’s foals in the bellies of his mares.  An advantageous trade for both sides—it’s little hardship for us to deliver luxury furs, even out of season, and it’s little hardship for the Crown Prince to allow his stallion a romp in our fields.  And we both come away with more than we had before—fine steeds on the way, and well-warmed company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae nods.  “Prince Xiumin has been most generous in his gifts for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Royal courtship is an elaborate thing, but warmth is simply hospitality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So he said, but as I’m yet from another Court, I ought to reciprocate if I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hospitality imposes no obligation for the one invited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still,” Jongdae says, startling slightly as a grinning Flickerfox appears at Gloryburn’s side.  “I’d like to give him fur for furs, if you think the kitten will thrive in his care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If anyone could raise a sidhe-cat without feeding it their neighbors, it would be Crown Prince Silverfrost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A betrothal gift?” Flickerfox smiles.  “The Crown Prince will surely be charmed.  And, for added satisfaction, Snivelwail will be all the more vexed.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The journey back to the Winter Palace is spent in strategy, planning how best Jongdae should make his triumphant return.  Jongdae cares little for such dramatics, but he’s learning the value of some well-placed theatre when it comes to the fae, particularly the royals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jongdae waits alone outside the palace with the kitten tucked into his thick fur cloak, cursing the wind more than the snow for the way it continuously strives to steal his breath.  Once the Autumn hunters have had time to slip into the Winter Court and assume a satisfactory viewpoint from which to witness the upcoming performance, Jongdae marches briskly through the palace to the throne room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door guards blink at him for half a moment, then pull the heavy oaken panels open wide.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin stands up from his throne between the King and Queen, pale heartsease tumbling into streamers of lily-of-the-valley all the way down his chest.  It takes all Jongdae has to keep his face impassive at the evidence that Xiumin had been constantly thinking of him in his absence, and that his return also brings a return of Xiumin’s happiness.  But he’s not the only one concerned with dignity—a sharp look from Winter’s King has Xiumin sinking back into the ornate crystalline chair, flowers wilting slightly as he takes in the fact that Jongdae’s not dragging a gory prize behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have failed,” Prince Shivergale declares, though he does look rather relieved himself to see Jongdae in one piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have not,” Jongdae counters, unwrapping the cloak to reveal an indignant little face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sidhe-cat announces itself with a disgruntled hiss, and while Jongdae’s sure it’s only vexed at being woken from its nap, it still sounds like an invective directed toward the royal dais.  There’s a murmur of smothered laughter, within which Jongdae is sure he can hear some recently-familiar tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… brought back a kitten?”  On the last syllable, Xiumin’s voice hits an impressively-high pitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have brought the head of a sidhe-cat to this throne room before sundown, as required.  I’ve also brought the rest of it, because I don’t happen to be heartless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Shivergale’s iberis blooms are all aquiver, as if they’re being tossed in a breeze no one else is affected by.  “You still fail.  ‘The head of a sidhe-cat’ clearly means one sliced from the neck of a valid hunting target, which, in this season, would be a solitary male.  If you were going to bend the restrictions of assistance to solicit the aid of hunters, perhaps you should have made use of more competent ones who would have advised you properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have followed all restrictions as imposed,” Jongdae states firmly, noticing how Xiumin’s fingers twitch as he further unwraps the kitten.  “You interpreted my stipulation of terms in a way that allowed you to send me on a trial I was sure to fail; it is only fair that I interpret your terms in a way that allows me to succeed.  Besides,” he says to interrupt Prince Shivergale’s objection, “had I brought you the severed head of an adult male, you’d have reinterpreted your own words to declare the trial failed, anyway, I have little doubt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mottled coloration of Shivergale’s face is enough to prove Flickerfox’s hunch correct, even without the way all his flowers furl into tight buds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I made sure to bring a sidhe-cat she-kitten.  And as you specified the trial complete once the sidhe-cat head was brought to this throne room—which it has been—I will now triumphantly present my betrothed with a gift he so richly deserves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes only a handful of steps toward the dais when Xiumin is in front of him, having leapt down and crossed the floor as if wings were on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Chenny,” he sings as he wraps him in an exuberant embrace of arms and tendrils, the kitten nestled between them.  “I love my gift!  Yet, and this was made exceptionally clear as I paced away the hours since your departure, I love my betrothed far more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Jongdae says, choosing to stare at the kitten’s fuzzy ears rather than notice his own white and coral petals or his betrothed’s blinding smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m honored to have your love.  My darling hybrid, you have triumphed, and we may now be wed without objection from </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone,</span>
  </em>
  <span> in this court or any other.”  This last is punctuated by a subfreezing glare over his shoulder at Prince Shivergale.  “You have only to complete three final trials—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s jaw reaches for his breastbone.  "More trials?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.  These trials are very important," Xiumin says, face closed like a dormant bud.  Yet there's a keen glint in those mesmerizing opaline eyes that leads Jongdae’s heart away from despair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then what are my tasks, oh treacherous fae?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"First, you must kiss your betrothed here."  He points to his left cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suppressing an exasperated smile, Jongdae obeys, letting his lips linger on Xiumin’s petal-soft skin regardless of their audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Second, you must kiss him here."  The right cheek is indicated this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae again complies, this time nuzzling a bit near Xiumin’s ear before pressing his lips to the smile-bunched apple of his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And third—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I must kiss him here?"  Jongdae runs his thumb along Xiumin’s bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin nods, eyes bright even as white primula gives his bashfulness away along with the promise that this is only the beginning of their love story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jongdae leans in, Xiumin meets him halfway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cheers of the Winter Court are only mildly disrupted by the enraged howl of the winter wind.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The sky above Faerie is still pussywillow-gray on the day of the royal wedding, but that only seems to make his groom shine that much brighter.  It seems like all of Faerie turns out for the event, and while there is a staggering amount of beauty present, Jongdae stands by his assertion that </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> fae is the most beautiful of all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His flowers are the perfectly-spiraling white camellias as they were when they met, but the way he’s looking at Jongdae makes it quite clear that this time the adoration is directed at him.  Jongdae’s own petals insist on remaining vivid red the entire time, with the occasional flicker of delighted yellow making Xiumin smile all the more sweetly at him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun had warned him that the ceremony would be long and involved, and he made no exaggeration.  There’s no mention of love, only fidelity and propagation, which Jongdae supposes is what a Court truly cares about.  That their regents are bound by geas against betrayal and that lines of succession are untainted and unbroken.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet even as he stands in the middle of an excessively-lengthy ceremony, he wishes for another, one quieter, simpler, like the weddings between commoners of Exordium.  The assurance of the Court is important, but Jongdae himself would feel more wed by a few heart-chosen words and the celebration of those that love them, rather than the carefully-worded vows before the eyes of the entire realm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In particular, Jongdae feels the absence of his father.  Of course it would have been entirely unwise to bring a human to Faerie even under such joyful circumstances, and it’s equally unwise to bring Xiumin with him back to Exordium without the geas of marriage between them, no matter how trustworthy Xiumin seems to be without such bonds.  But his father was the only family Jongdae had for the first score-and-six years of his life, and even though he’s come to hold respect and even affection for the regents of the Summer Court, having them at his side on this important day, while welcome, doesn’t quite feel like enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is happy to have Baekhyun there, his devoted friend.  Happy to see the amicable pair of Autumn hunters, the Spring Regents, everyone who had aided him along the way.  And he’s happier still to retreat to the Crown Prince’s chambers, seeing Xiumin’s room for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sidhe-kitten is curled up in her basket of fleece, lifting her head to give them an inquisitive </span>
  <em>
    <span>prrp</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they enter the room.  Xiumin crosses to her with a coo, presenting the bottle of deersmilk he’d prepared for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s our girl,” Xiumin tells her as she drinks greedily.  “Who’ll grow up big and strong and fierce?  That’s right, our sweet baby Tannie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our?” Jongdae laughs as he strokes the contented kitten’s furry head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xiumin looks at him with one eyebrow raised.  “Of course, ‘our.’  Did we not just recite vows for hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t presume that extended to anything personal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would it not?  Have you personal things you wish not to share?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae snorts.  “My dear husband, even the clothes on my back are those you’ve gifted me.  All I have to offer is myself.  But that, for what it’s worth, is yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have plenty of material things once you come into your kingdom,” Xiumin dismisses, setting the sated kitten back in her basket.  “But you, my beautiful exotic hybrid, I am honored to be given.”  He stands up, taking Jongdae’s hand and drawing him over to the bed, a soft cushion of moss topped by wooly lambs-ear leaves and, what seems a recent addition, a neatly folded pile of thick furs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are far more beautiful than I,” Jongdae demurs, allowing himself to be pushed down into the soft surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Xiumin shakes his head.  “Do not attempt to deny my eyes the pleasure they find in your countenance,” he says.  “To them, your face is a delight of crystalline angles, accented by the filigree of your upcurled mouth and the embellishment of your eyes when you smile.”  He prowls over Jongdae’s supine form, a vision in white peonies, evidently more than pleased to be happily wed (and feeling a certain kind of way about it).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheeks flushed and petals bright yellow and orange with enthusiasm and desire, Jongdae lets himself be kissed against the bedding until he feels rather mossy himself, soft and mindless of anything but the press of Xiumin’s body against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This gift of yourself you give me is one I shall forever treasure,” Xiumin murmurs against his mouth.  “Your body I will accept with eagerness, and as for your name… let me earn it through my ardent appreciation of your person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thus Jongdae learns exactly how useful fae tendrils truly are, but more importantly, he learns his husband’s true name, Minseok, bestowed between pants, and so Jongdae calls him as he tumbles into ecstasy.  And for the first time since he’d left his father’s hut so many mornings ago, he hears his own name, his real name, on his husband’s lips when he flutters over the edge after him, an aching aria in a symphony of soft petals and sweet words.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>The following days are spent in preparation for Jongdae's return to the mortal realm, and the nights are spent in celebration of his new marriage.</p><p>"I will take you for a proper honeymoon once the storm has broken," Xiumin promises when they're lying wrapped in each other's arms (and tendrils).  "To all the most beautiful places in all the Courts of Faerie, to lay you down in meadows and on mountaintops, in crystal caverns and beneath canopies of conifers."</p><p> Jongdae chuckles, reaching to aid Tannie as the sidhe-kitten attempts to climb into their bed.  He has no idea what they'll do when she's too big to fit between her adoptive guardians, but for now her furry warmth is more than welcome.</p><p>"I'm sure the mortal realm is full of breathtaking beauty, but the only place I'm keen to take you is the garden I grew up in."</p><p>"And I'm keen to see it," Xiumin says, pulling Jongdae and the kitten back into cuddling closeness.  "Anywhere my lover blooms is the most beautiful place of all."</p><p>"You're sappier than a maple in the spring," Jongdae laughs. "For a Prince of Winter, you're rather poor at being frigid."</p><p>Xiumin only shrugs, smiling as his tendrils tighten around Jongdae's shoulders.  "I am my mother's offshoot as well," he reminds him.  "As are you, my exotic hybrid.  And both of us will make our mothers proud."</p><p>Jongdae can only hope his husband's words are as prophetic as his cousin's.</p><p>He's prepared as well as he possibly can.  Still no warrior despite Diyo's coaching, he's grateful for the gleaming suit of dragonscale armor the Summer King gifts him with in honor of his pending ascension to Exordium's throne.</p><p>"Bronze dragons are said to call to the thunder, just as you do," King Dragonheart says.  "It seems fitting that their shed scales contribute to the shedding of iron's taint."</p><p>Jongdae gapes at his uncle.  "To the thunder?  Not the lightning?"</p><p>King Dragonheart shakes his head.  "The light is only a guide.  Like your glimmering noble bard.  The power of your storm is not the flash, but the bang.  It was not lightning that rang the bell."</p><p>Armed with this unexpected insight, Jongdae is able to recreate the 'exploit' of his second trial.  When he finally succeeds in directing a thunderous percussion to shatter a pile of boulders, he and Baekhyun jump around and cheer like excitable locusts, much to Diyo's not-so-carefully-hidden amusement.</p><p>The soldier's satisfaction is much more evident on the following day, when Jongdae stands at the head of a vast fae host, thunder rumbling through the iron-gray skies above.  Iron keeps the assembled from coming too close to the metal-worked castle walls, but it also calls to his guiding lightning, allowing Jongdae to easily direct the power of the storm into the stone.</p><p>"Stormbreaker, indeed," Diyo approves as the first iron-entwined blocks come tumbling down, the start of a large enough breach in the battlements to disrupt the iron's inhibiting aura.  It still won't be pleasant for the invading fae to pour into the metal-filled castle, but once the iron-bound perimeter is interrupted, much of the taint will be dispelled.</p><p>And without iron's full protection, Exordium is theirs for the taking.</p><p>For all the days upon days Jongdae had spent in Faerie, only one had passed in Exordium, meaning that Jongdae and his mighty host emerge on a ridge overlooking the palace to bugles of alarm. 
 The fae-wary king had evidently set watchmen far and wide, anticipating a possible return.
</p><p>
  <span>But Prince Chen Stormbreaker had managed to endear himself to all four Courts of Faerie, which means his request for aid was answered with an army, every member of which is more than ready to use their fae gifts on Jongdae’s behalf.  No one wishes the skies of Faerie cleared more than her denizens, so Jongdae only had to offer each a pittance for their service.  Xiumin, of course, is at his side out of love, and Diyo there at his prince's behest, leading Winter's guard in their duties to protect the pair of future regents.  Baekhyun, the Summer Regents, and what seems like the entire Summer Court also took no payment, stating that even without the sovereign geas compelling them to support a Summer-born royal unless countermanded by higher rank, they'd fight to avenge their lost Princess Brightstorm.</span></p><p>"Fitting that the legacy of a bright storm is a dark one, and that the storm will break before it's broken," Princess Amberglow says at her damsire's side, living up to her name in armor of golden scales.</p><p>Even Prince Shivergale is there beside his father and brother, icy armor glittering with each bolt of Jongdae's continued assault.  His wall of howling wind does nothing to interfere with Jongdae's thunderbolts, but neatly prevents any of the defending arrows or crossbow bolts from reaching the assembled fae, flinging the missiles back into their ranks.  He’d apologized profusely to Jongdae for their “little misunderstanding,” and while Jongdae trusts Winter's second prince about as much as a dandelion trusts a jackrabbit, he'd been inclined toward forgiveness ever since Xiumin’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of the kitten’s fuzzy, intact head.  He’s more than amenable to allowing Prince Shivergale to repay his debt with the defense of his life and those of his hired warriors.</p><p>"For Faerie and the mortal realm!" Jongdae yells above the storm once a sufficient section of the fortifications has been reduced to rubble.</p><p>"For Brightstorm, and the Stormbreaker!"</p><p>"For retribution and restoration!"</p><p>"For love and loyalty!"</p><p>Cries ring out all around him, and the host surges forth.  Jongdae is swept along with them, kept in a careful ring of personal defenders, tendrils braided between them to block bolt or blade from reaching their long-awaited Risen Rose.  He feels a little ridiculous, heading into battle in his living cage, but Diyo had only given him a signature deadpan stare when Jongdae had attempted to object to this plan.</p><p>"A golden bloom in a bell jar, a prince that no one shall imperil," the soldier had quoted.  "If you think that I'm going to explain to the Crown Prince of Winter how I failed to protect Faerie's final hope—not to mention his beloved husband—you can think again.  He outranks you.  These are his orders.  And he specifically said I may forcibly restrain you if necessary to ensure your compliance."</p><p>In the absence of alternatives, Jongdae attempts to tolerate his confinement with good grace.  But given the almost laughably quick battle that follows, the over-protective actions seems all the more excessive.</p><p>The King of Exordium’s palace guard are all arrayed and armed with iron, yet it fails to save them from those it's meant to ward off.  For all that the fae don’t play at combat, they are ruthless about it when they deem it warranted.  Anyone who lifts a weapon toward their Risen Rose is cut down with spellworked blades of gleaming bronze, the coiled buds visible at the hips of guards merely sheathes for the lethal weapons within.  Those who surrender are spared, disarmed and left wrapped in roots or vines as the fae sweep through the palace.  But those who refuse to yield are felled before the invading force like cut flowers, staining the castle’s flagstones poppy-red as the fae advance.</p><p>Not a single fae takes more than a scratch, and walls and locks are no obstacle for those who wield nature’s power, weakened as it may be in this realm.  The earth itself trembles, tendrils and roots twine around and through thunder-weakened stonework, flame renders iron grates brittle and massive boulders hurl themselves through.  Flickerfox and those with similar gifts are everywhere and nowhere, illusions lead defending forces into ambush, well-aimed blows or life-preserving blocks are slowed until the effort is rendered meaningless.
</p><p>
  <span>“And where was all this power?” the King of Exordium snarls when the fae breach the castle’s keep.  “Where was all this might and magic when my brother was slain?  We forsook iron and earned only death, when you clearly could have defended the nation you made weak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could have,” King Dragonheart says at Jongdae’s side.  “But the fae do not simply offer aid to those of another Court, especially the regent.  It would be seen as a slight, to step in uninvited, as if said regent were unable to even determine their own need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you let your allies perish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—we arrive as soon as they </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Rage has mottled the King of Exordium’s face to aconite purple.  “You let my brother die, and blame me for not asking for aid I had no foreknowledge of needing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We blame you for having your head beneath your wife’s kirtle instead of on your shoulders.  We blame you for failing to seek her council in regards to her people, for dismissing advice she freely offered, for not arranging to train with us or even securing the loan of supplementary fae troops while yours were re-trained.  We blame you for allowing your kingdom to become vulnerable through hubris and inattention, and then breaking our pact when your own actions led to ruin,” Jongdae states firmly.  “And mostly, for attempting to end the life of your own blood son, not merely in the heat of grief, but two days prior, when I was yet ignorant of my role in these events.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what now, my half-breed son?  You’ll kill me instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jongdae says.  The man had sired him, and even with the many sins at his feet, Jongdae doesn’t feel as if any are truly worth the dishonor of patricide.  He has no wish to begin his reign in Exordium as a sire-slayer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I will,” says one of the royal bodyguards, stepping forward to draw a bronze dagger cleanly across the king’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for Brightstorm,” Baekhyun says, illusion dissolving as he stands over the gurgling king.  “For turning against she who had willingly sacrificed everything for a people not her own, to give you a son that would save us all.  For valuing one brother’s life over hers and those of two entire realms.  You die not for negligence or for attempts at filicide, but for not truly valuing the sacrifices of your bride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king dies just as Baekhyun finishes his condemnation, and silence rings out like thunder through the throne room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keenglimmer!” Jongdae cries.  “What happened to being my devoted friend?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still your devoted friend,” Baekhyun says calmly as he cleans his blade and sheathes it again beneath the leaves on his arm.  “This mortal was a threat to your reign and possibly your wellbeing.  Now he’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He plucks the Crown of Exordium from where it had rolled when the previous wearer had collapsed, then strolls over to place it amidst Jongdae’s perpetual crown of roses, braided with fine chains of gold and silver to reflect his heritage and his marriage.  Baekhyun adjusts it to some satisfactory standard, then steps back, folding into a deep, elegant bow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long live the King of Exordium, beloved of the fae!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Long live the King!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sentiment is deafening when echoed by the fae host around him and spread throughout the castle.  It’s repeated, gaining volume as the remaining skirmishers are beaten or surrender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t feel real as Jongdae is escorted to sit on the throne he was rightfully born to, as his sire’s body is cleared away to be interred with his ancestors in the royal crypt, as servants who’d hidden during the fighting creep out like mice after sundown, hastening to make themselves useful to this sudden new king lest they find themselves dismissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s more than a boon to have his Xiumin, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Minseok,</span>
  </em>
  <span> at his side, the queen’s throne and tiara only emphasizing his ethereal beauty.  He’d pushed the heavy chair closer to the King’s so he could twine fingers and tendrils around Jongdae’s hand, uncaring of the scratch marks atop the marble dais or the odd looks from the parade of nobles coming to pay obeisance and swear fealty, both to the new king and to the old ways in honor of their fae allies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jongdae’s heart isn’t truly eased until a familiar voice swears to continue to serve well and faithfully as he’s always done in his capacity as the Royal Gardener, should it please His Majesty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it pleases me, Father,” Jongdae huffs, rising from the throne to tearfully embrace the man who’d been his only family for over a quarter of a century.  “Though of course you shouldn’t need to work at all, if your son is the king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I enjoy it, my cinquefoil son.  Besides, your new captain of the guard has a young daughter more suited to sowing than swordplay, so I’ve offered to take her on as an apprentice, since my previous assistant is likely to be shirking his gardening duties in favor of cultivating an entire kingdom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two, actually,” Jongdae laughs wryly, introducing his father to his royal husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a pleasure to meet the mortal who raised such a tenacious and clever king.  He accorded himself well through trials three times three, and someday mortal bards will sing of it as ours already do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bards sing of me?”  Jongdae’s petals flutter green, blue, then settle into bashful pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bards sing of heroes,” Jongdae’s father laughs.  “You’re only saving two entire realms, my uplifted trillium.  Your mother would be blooming with pride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention of the one Jongdae will forever think of as the true hero of this epic he was merely born into, he also introduces his father to King Dragonheart and his family, and to Baekhyun, who looks a bit sheepish to be thanked profusely for turning a man into a rabbit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our hybrid rose wouldn’t leave until you were safe, and from what he relays, it seems you at least held sympathy for our Brightstorm, so I am glad to see you hale and whole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She stayed with me for a sennight,” Jongdae’s father reports.  “Had the child too early, she said, right in the middle of my humble cottage, the poor dear, when she deserved comfort and better aid than a bumbling gardener who barely knew which end of a sheep the lambs come out of.  But her child was as strong as she was, and she nursed him well for as many days as she had left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then her final wish was granted—to meet her child,” Baekhyun nods, eyes wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Summer Court owes you a boon, good sir,” King Dragonheart adds.  “Name your reward, and if we are able to provide it, we shall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need no boon,” Jongdae’s father dismisses.  “Watching her child grow was more than enough.  I only wish I could have done more for her.  I promised to bury her beneath the roses, but she simply faded clean away, leaving the babe squalling for his dam.  Luckily, I have friends who do know which end of a sheep is up, and our boy did well enough on ewe’s milk, though I fear that’s why he’s not very tall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is the perfect height,” Minseok states primly, winter daphne managing a few concurring blooms.  “And fae thrive on milk and cream.  You could not have done any better for him unless you nursed him yourself, and I’m given to understand humans are less flexible of form than fae.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And of mind, occasionally,” Jongdae sighs.  “I fear for the fate of my half-siblings.  Of course they hate me, but I’ll not let them come to harm.  They only believe as they’ve been raised to, not out of malice, but ignorance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but that’s easy enough to solve for one like Queen Honeythroat,” Baekhyun hums.  “Her song can melt minds like snow in the spring, leaving them well-tilled for new thoughts to be planted.  The Spring Court likes that which glimmers with promise, and you have a treasury full now, my liege.  Have some gold and silver melted into electrum for her, have Winter’s finest artisans fashion it into something that charms the eyes and the heart, and she will surely sing your siblings into submission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t desire their submission,” Jongdae says.  “I desire for them to be healthy and happy, and live fulfilling lives that aren’t a threat to me or mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s hunch had been correct—it had been his half-brother Taekwoon that had been the No One of the tavern encounter that, for him, had been only two days prior.  He’d started escaping the castle occasionally after his mother had passed from a fever, the restlessness of grief driving him to seek novel distractions.  What he’d eventually found instead was a young man who resembled the paintings his father burned every year, and reporting this motherless look-alike had, in a pair of days, stolen everything he’d ever known.  Perhaps it would be a mercy to allow the fae to remake his siblings’ angry, grief-stricken minds into more peaceful ones, but he doesn’t wish to have them at his feet.  He wishes to have them out of his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you simply give Queen Honeythroat a seed or two to plant,” Baekhyun says.  “Some alternate personal history, something that fits into an existing narrative.  They might believe themselves the orphaned children of a carpenter, the oldest now apprenticed to a smith—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or perhaps he’s in training to be a priest, filial loyalty overcoming faithlessness,” Jongdae smiles.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Sure, if that’s your fancy,” Baekhyun says with a shrug.  “Then you only need to find some fitting mortals to pawn them off on, to feed and house them until our suggestions become truths.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae’s smile widens.  “I believe I know just the people.”</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Co-ruling a pair of kingdoms in a pair of realms turns out to be just as complicated as Jongdae had initially feared.  He must do without Minseok at his side in the mortal realm for days or weeks at a stretch, at the whim of the time distortion between realms.  But they are still together more often than not, and having Minseok’s wisdom and experience means Jongdae has leisure to cultivate his own advisors rather than rely on the prior king’s cabinet.  Some he does end up retaining, those with Exordium’s well-being at heart, but those whose ambition chases politics or prestige end up reassigned where their pettiness can do no harm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taekwoon and his siblings seem to be thriving with the band of friends from that fateful night at the tavern.  They take them in without question when they show up smelling of smoke and reporting their house lost to fire, and the most recent update Jongdae has received has revealed that Taekwoon is becoming both a fine bowyer under Hakyeon’s tutelage, but that he also draws quite the crowd at the tavern as a singer himself—Queen Honeythroat’s attentions evidently confer unexpected bonuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A year after Exordium returns to the old ways, Faerie sees the first entirely-sunny day in several generations.  The storm resumes the next day, but it seems weaker than before, and The First Day Of Sun is still seen as a harbinger of future brightness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jongdae is still a simple man with simple desires, chief among which are still a cozy home, a sweet companion, and something fulfilling to do with his days.  He’s still easy enough to please, which is just as well, because as the offshoot of the Wild Rose, the eyes of two realms are on him as he follows in his mother’s footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d like to think he’s doing a decent job, or at least as well as he possibly can, and though storms still trouble the skies in Faerie, none trouble his heart.  In Exordium, he has his father, and stolen moments of tranquility in the royal gardens that will always feel more like home to him than the palace that is rightfully his.  In Faerie, he has his mother’s family, his place at the Winter Court, and a growing, playful sidhe-cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in both places, he has his beloved husband and his devoted friend, one or both of them always at his side as he navigates domestic trade and foreign policy, coordinating bronze arms training and official celebration of the seasonal rites.  He may be born for the task, Faerie’s long-awaited Stormbreaker, Exordium’s one true king.  But he doesn’t have to do any of it alone, and for that, Jongdae is eternally grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a good life, if a duty-filled one, and Jongdae is happy.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>The fae have a reputation among humans as fickle.  But that is mostly because short-lived beings have shorter memories, and the lore deemed worth honoring and passing down varies from generation to generation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth is that fae indulge in chaos outside of a geas.  They see no obligation to provide aid unless it’s asked for, and certainly not without proper compensation.  But once bound by their word, they always uphold their end of an oath.  The most binding oath of all is one freely given, without mandate, without menace, without malice.  And the greatest of these is the one traded by true-hearted lovers with clasped hands, as the sun rises on another of the many days waiting to be shared in one realm or another.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On this particular morning, with the rising sun painting the stormclouds in every hue worthy of the finest garden, one dedicant is bedecked in snowy tritonia—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I am yours in all seasons—</span>
  </em>
  <span>and the other is arrayed in roses of pink and white—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you still and always.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Palms together, fingers interlaced, forehead to forehead, breath mingling into breath, their hearts inflorescent at the sweet rain of promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.  I’ll forever love you.  Everything I am is entirely yours, for all of eternity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same words, sworn by two voices, sealed with an earnest kiss.  Thus are the tendrils of two hearts bound, together in sunshine and shadow, in deluge or drought, for many a lifetime and more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honor and glory be unto Chen Stormbreaker, Summer-born Queen of the Winter Court and High King of all Exordium, until he pass from life into legend.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honor and glory be unto Xiumin Silverfrost, King of the Winter Court and Grand Prince of Exordium, until he follow his true love into Elysium’s sweet embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>May summer always follow winter, sun always follow storm, and may every blooming rose be ever a reminder that life holds beauty for those who know to look.</span>
</p>
<h1>
  <span>ᔟමූᔤ</span>
</h1>
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